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Dawn breaks over South-Central Ramadi. Task Unit Bruiser, Charlie Platoon sniper overwatch deep into enemy territory with AH64 Apache gunship overhead. Enemy fighters shot thousands of rounds at the helicopter as they overflew the city.
(Photo courtesy of the authors)
Dedicated to Marc Lee, Mike Monsoor, and Ryan Job—three courageous
warriors, SEAL teammates, and friends—who valiantly wielded their big
machine guns on the mean streets of Ramadi and laid down their lives so
that others might live.
PREFACE
“So, there I was.…”
Plenty of glorified war stories start like that. In the SEAL Teams, we
make fun of those who tell embellished tales about themselves. A typical
war story told in jest about something a SEAL did usually begins like this:
“So, no shit, there I was, knee-deep in grenade pins.…”
This book isn’t meant to be an individual’s glorified war story. As
SEALs, we operate as a team of high-caliber, multitalented individuals who
have been through perhaps the toughest military training and most rigorous
screening process anywhere. But in the SEAL program, it is all about the
Team. The sum is far greater than the parts. We refer to our professional
warfare community simply as “the Teams.” We call ourselves “team guys.”
This book describes SEAL combat operations and training through our eyes
—from our individual perspectives—and applies our experience to
leadership and management practices in the business world.
Yet, our SEAL operations were not about us as individuals; our stories
are of the SEAL platoon and task unit we were lucky enough to lead. Chris
Kyle, the SEAL sniper and author of the best seller American Sniper, which
inspired the movie, was one member of that platoon and task unit—Charlie
Platoon’s lead sniper and point man in Task Unit Bruiser. He played a part
in the combat examples in this book, as did a host of other teammates who,
though deserving of recognition, remain out of the spotlight. Far from being
ours alone, the war stories in this book are of the brothers and leaders we
served with and fought alongside—the Team. The combat scenarios
describe how we confronted obstacles as a team and overcame those
challenges together. After all, there can be no leadership where there is no
team.
* * *
Between the Vietnam War and the Global War on Terrorism, the U.S.
military experienced a thirty-year span of virtually no sustained combat
operations. With the exception of a few flashes of conflict (Grenada,
Panama, Kuwait, Somalia), only a handful of U.S. military leaders had any
real, substantial combat experience. In the SEAL Teams, these were the
“dry years.” As those who served in heavy combat situations in the jungles
of Vietnam retired, their combat leadership lessons faded.
All that changed on September 11, 2001, when the horrific terrorist
attacks on the U.S. homeland launched America once again into sustained
conflict. More than a decade of continuous war and tough combat
operations in Iraq and Afghanistan gave birth to a new generation of leaders
in the ranks of America’s fighting forces. These leaders were forged not in
classrooms through hypothetical training and theory, but through practical,
hands-on experience on the front lines of war—the front echelon.1
Leadership theories were tested in combat; hypotheses put through trials of
fire. Across the ranks of the U.S. military services, forgotten wartime
lessons were rewritten—in blood. Some leadership principles developed in
training proved ineffective in actual combat. Thus, effective leadership
skills were honed while those that proved impractical were discarded,
spawning a new generation of combat leaders from across the broad ranks
of all U.S. military services—Army, Marine Corps, Navy, Air Force—and
those of our allies. The U.S. Navy SEAL Teams were at the forefront of this
leadership transformation, emerging from the triumphs and tragedies of war
with a crystallized understanding of what it takes to succeed in the most
challenging environments that combat presents.
Among this new generation of combat leaders there are many war
stories. After years of successful operations, including the heroic raid that
killed Osama bin Laden, U.S. Navy SEALs have piqued the public’s
interest and received more attention than most of us ever wanted. This
spotlight has shed light on aspects of our organization that should remain
secret. In this book, we are careful not to remove that shroud any further.
We do not discuss classified programs or violate nondisclosure agreements
surrounding our operational experiences.
Many SEAL memoirs have been written—some by experienced and
well-respected operators who wanted to pass on the heroic deeds and
accomplishments of our tribe; a few, unfortunately, by SEALs who hadn’t
contributed much to the community. Like so many of our SEAL teammates,
we had a negative view when SEAL books were published.
Why then would we choose to write a book? As battlefield leaders, we
learned extremely valuable lessons through success and failure. We made
mistakes and learned from them, discovering what works and what doesn’t.
We trained SEAL leaders and watched them implement the principles we
ourselves had learned with the same success on difficult battlefields. Then,
as we worked with businesses in the civilian sector, we again saw the
leadership principles we followed in combat lead to victory for the
companies and executives we trained. Many people, both in the SEAL
Teams and in the businesses we worked with, asked us to document our
lessons learned in a concrete way that leaders could reference.
We wrote this book to capture those leadership principles for future
generations, so that they may not be forgotten, so that as new wars begin
and end, such crucial lessons will not have to be relearned—rewritten in
more blood. We wrote this so that the leadership lessons can continue to
impact teams beyond the battlefield in all leadership situations—any
company, team, or organization in which a group of people strives to
achieve a goal and accomplish a mission. We wrote this book for leaders
everywhere to utilize the principles we learned to lead and win.
Who are we to write such a book? It may seem that anyone who
believes they can write a book on leadership must think themselves the
epitome of what every leader should aspire to be. But we are far from
perfect. We continue to learn and grow as leaders every day, just as any
leaders who are truly honest with themselves must. We were simply
fortunate enough to experience an array of leadership challenges that taught
us valuable lessons. This book is our best effort to pass those lessons on, not
from a pedestal or a position of superiority, but from a humble place, where
the scars of our failings still show.
We are Jocko Willink and Leif Babin, SEAL officers who served
together in Ar Ramadi, Iraq, during Operation Iraqi Freedom. There, we
became intimately familiar with the humbling trials of war. We were lucky
enough to build, train, and lead high-performance, winning teams that
proved exceptionally effective. We saw firsthand the perils of complacency,
having served on a battlefield where at any time the possibility of our
position being overrun by a large force of well-armed enemy fighters was
quite real. We know what it means to fail—to lose, to be surprised,
outmaneuvered, or simply beaten. Those lessons were the hardest, but
perhaps the most important. We learned that leadership requires belief in the
mission and unyielding perseverance to achieve victory, particularly when
doubters question whether victory is even possible. As SEAL leaders, we
developed, tested, confirmed, and captured an array of leadership lessons as
well as management and organizational best practices. We then built and
ran SEAL leadership training and helped write the doctrine for the next
generation of SEAL leaders.
Our SEAL task unit served through the bulk of what has become known
as the “Battle of Ramadi.” But this book is not intended as a historical
account of those combat operations. In a concise volume such as this, we
cannot possibly tell the stories of service and sacrifice by the U.S. military
men and women who served, fought, bled, and died there. We—the authors
and the SEALs we served with in Ramadi—were tremendously humbled by
the courage, dedication, professionalism, selflessness, and sacrifice
displayed by the units we served with under both the U.S. Army 2nd
Brigade, 28th Infantry Brigade Combat Team, and the U.S. Army 1st
Brigade, 1st Armored Division—the Ready First Brigade Combat Team.
These included a distinguished list of courageous and storied units, both
U.S. Army and Marine Corps. It would require an entire book (or series of
books) to detail their heroism and unfaltering dedication to the mission and
our country. God bless them all.
Inside that Band of Brothers carrying out the broader fight for Ramadi
was our SEAL task unit: Naval Special Warfare Task Unit Bruiser. Again,
the combat experiences relayed in the following chapters are not meant for
historic reference. Although we have used quotes to impart the message of
conversations we had, they are certainly not perfect, and are subject to the
passage of time, the constraints of this format, and the shortfalls of memory.
Our SEAL combat experiences depicted in this book have been carefully
edited or altered to conceal specific tactics, techniques, and procedures, and
to guard classified information about when and where specific operations
took place and who participated in them. The manuscript was submitted and
approved through the Pentagon’s Security Review process in accordance
with U.S. Department of Defense requirements. We have done our utmost
to protect the identities of our brothers in the SEAL Teams with whom we
served and for those still serving in harm’s way. They are silent
professionals and seek no recognition. We take this solemn responsibility to
protect them with the utmost seriousness.
We took the same precaution with the rest of the warriors in the Ready
First Brigade Combat Team. We have used, almost entirely, rank alone to
identify these brave Soldiers and Marines.2 This is by no means meant to
detract from their service, but only to ensure their privacy and security.
Likewise, we have done our utmost to protect the clients of our
leadership and management consulting company, Echelon Front, LLC. We
have refrained from using company names, changed the names of
individuals, masked industry-specific information, and in some cases
altered the positions of executives and industries to protect the identities of
people and companies. Their confidentiality is sacrosanct. While the stories
of our lessons learned in the business world are based directly on our real
experiences, in some cases we combined situations, condensed timelines,
and modified story lines to more clearly emphasize the principles we are
trying to illustrate.
The idea for this book was born from the realization that the principles
critical to SEAL success on the battlefield—how SEALs train and prepare
their leaders, how they mold and develop high-performance teams, and how
they lead in combat—are directly applicable to success in any group,
organization, corporation, business, and, to a broader degree, life. This book
provides the reader with our formula for success: the mind-set and guiding
principles that enable SEAL leaders and combat units to achieve
extraordinary results. It demonstrates how to apply these directly in
business and life to likewise achieve victory.
Task Unit Bruiser SEALs unleash lethal machine gun fire and 40mm grenades on insurgents during a clearance operation in
southeast Ramadi.
(Photo courtesy of Michael Fumento)
INTRODUCTION
Ramadi, Iraq: The Combat Leader’s Dilemma
Leif Babin
Only the low rumble of diesel engines could be heard as the convoy of
Humvees1 eased to a stop along the canal road. Iraqi farm fields and groves
of date palms spread for some distance into the darkness in all directions.
The night was quiet. Only the occasional barking of a distant dog and a
lonely flickering light gave any indication of the Iraqi village beyond. If
intelligence reports were accurate, that village harbored a high-level
terrorist leader and perhaps his entourage of well-armed fighters. No lights
were visible from the convoy, and darkness blanketed the road, blacking out
most of the surroundings to the naked eye. But through the green glow of
our night-vision goggles a flurry of activity could be seen: a platoon of
Navy SEALs kitted up with helmets, body armor, weapons, and gear, along
with an element of Iraqi soldiers, dismounted from the vehicles and quickly
aligned in patrol formation.
An explosive ordnance disposal (EOD) bomb technician pushed
forward and checked out a dirt bridge that crossed the canal ahead.
Insurgents often planted deadly explosives at such choke points. Some were
powerful enough to wipe out an entire vehicle and all its occupants in a
sudden inferno of flying jagged metal and searing heat. For now, the way
ahead appeared clear, and the assault force of SEALs and Iraqi soldiers
stealthily pushed across the bridge on foot toward a group of buildings
where the terrorist reportedly took refuge. A particularly evil insurgent
responsible for the deaths of American Soldiers, Iraqi security forces, and
innocent civilians, this notorious al Qaeda in Iraq emir had successfully
evaded capture for months. Now was a critical opportunity to capture or kill
him before his next attack.
The SEAL assault force patrolled up a narrow street between the high
walls of residential compounds and moved to the door of the target
building.
BOOM!
The deep concussion from the explosive breaching charge shattered the
quiet night. It was a hell of a wake-up call for the occupants inside the
house as the door blew in, and aggressive, well-armed men with weapons
ready for a fight entered the house. The Humvees pushed forward across the
bridge, down the narrow street wide enough only for a single vehicle, and
came to a stop in security positions around the target building. Each
vehicle’s turret contained a SEAL manning a heavy machine gun, ready to
provide fire support if things went sideways.
I was the ground force commander, the senior SEAL in charge of this
operation. I had just stepped out of the command vehicle and onto the street
near the target building, when suddenly someone yelled: “We’ve got a
squirter!” It was our EOD operator nearby who had seen the “squirter,”
meaning someone fleeing the target building. Perhaps it was the terrorist
himself or someone with information on his whereabouts. We couldn’t
allow him to escape. The EOD operator and I were the only ones in position
to pursue him, so we sprinted after the man. We chased him down a narrow
alleyway, around a group of buildings, and down another dark alleyway that
paralleled the street where our Humvees were parked. Finally, we caught up
to him, a middle-aged Iraqi man in a traditional Arabic robe, or dishdasha.
As we were trained, he was quickly forced to the ground and his hands
controlled. Those hands didn’t possess a weapon, but he might have a
grenade in his pocket or, worse, be wearing an explosive suicide belt under
his clothing. Anyone associated with such a high-level terrorist might have
such deadly devices, and we couldn’t assume otherwise. Just to be sure, he
had to be searched quickly.
In that instant, I became keenly aware that we were all alone in the
world, totally separated from our unit. The rest of our SEAL assault force
didn’t know where we were. There hadn’t been time to notify them. I
wasn’t even sure exactly where we were located relevant to their position.
All around us were darkened windows and rooftops of uncleared buildings,
where enemy fighters might be lurking, preparing to attack and unleash hell
on us at any second. We had to get back and link up with our troops ASAP.
But even before we could cuff the man’s hands and begin a pat-down
search for weapons, I heard movement. As I looked down the alleyway
through my night-vision goggles, suddenly seven or eight men rounded the
corner not forty yards from us. They were heavily armed and rapidly
moving toward us. For a split second, my mind questioned what my eyes
were seeing. But there it was: the unmistakable outlines of AK-47 rifles, an
RPG-72 shoulder-fired rocket, and at least one belt-fed machine gun. They
weren’t there to shake our hands. These were armed enemy fighters
maneuvering to attack.
Now, the two of us—the EOD operator and I—were in a hell of a tight
spot. The subdued Iraqi man and possible terrorist we were holding had not
yet been searched, a situation that carried huge risks. We needed to fall back
and link up with the rest of our force. Now, with a larger enemy force
maneuvering on us with heavier firepower, the two of us were outnumbered
and outgunned. Finally, I desperately needed to resume my role as ground
force commander, dispense with handling prisoners, and get back to my job
of command and control for the assault force, our vehicles, and
coordination with our distant supporting assets. All this had to be
accomplished immediately.
I had deployed to Iraq before, but never had I been in a situation like
this. Though combat is often depicted in movies and video games, this was
not a movie and it certainly was no game. These were heavily armed and
dangerous men determined to kill American and Iraqi troops. Were any of
us to fall into their hands, we could expect to be tortured in unspeakable
ways and then decapitated on video for all the world to see. They wanted
nothing more than to kill us and were willing to die by the dozen to do so.
Blood pumping, adrenaline surging, I knew every nanosecond counted.
This situation could overwhelm the most competent leader and seasoned
combat veteran. But the words of my immediate boss—our task unit
commander, Lieutenant Commander Jocko Willink—echoed in my head,
words I’d regularly heard during a full year of intensive training and
preparation: “Relax. Look around. Make a call.” Our SEAL platoon and
task unit had trained extensively through dozens of desperate, chaotic, and
overwhelming situations to prepare for just such a moment as this. I
understood how to implement the Laws of Combat that Jocko had taught
us: Cover and Move, Simple, Prioritize and Execute, and Decentralized
Command. The Laws of Combat were the key to not just surviving a dire
situation such as this, but actually thriving, enabling us to totally dominate
the enemy and win. They guided my next move.
Prioritize: Of all the pressing tasks at hand, if I didn’t first handle the
armed enemy fighters bearing down on us within the next few seconds
nothing else would matter. We would be dead. Worse, the enemy fighters
would continue their attack and might kill more of our SEAL assault force.
This was my highest priority.
Execute: Without hesitation, I engaged the enemy fighters moving
toward us with my Colt M4 rifle, hammering the first insurgent in line
carrying the RPG with three to four rounds to the chest, dead center. As he
dropped, I rapidly shifted fire to the next bad guy, then to the next. The
muzzle flashes and report of the rifle announced to all within earshot that a
firefight was on. The group of enemy fighters hadn’t bargained for this.
They panicked, and those who could still run beat a hasty retreat back the
way they had come. Some crawled and others dragged the wounded and
dying around the street corner and out of sight as I continued to engage
them. I knew I had hit at least three or four of them. Though the rounds had
been accurate and impacted the enemy fighters’ centers of mass, the
5.56mm round was just too small to have much knock-down power. Now
the bad guys were around the corner, some no doubt dead or gravely
wounded and soon to be. But surely those who were unscathed would
regroup and attack again, likely rounding up even more fighters to join their
efforts.
We needed to move. There was no time for a complex plan. Nor did I
have the luxury of providing specific direction to my shooting buddy, the
EOD operator next to me. But we had to execute immediately. Having dealt
with the highest priority task—armed enemy fighters maneuvering to attack
—and with that threat at least temporarily checked, our next priority was to
fall back and link up with our SEAL assault force. To do this, the EOD
operator and I utilized Cover and Move—teamwork. I provided cover fire
while he bounded back to a position where he could cover me. Then I
moved to a new position to cover for him. Thus, we leapfrogged our way
back toward the rest of our team with the prisoner in tow. As soon as we
reached the cover of a concrete wall in a perpendicular alleyway, I kept my
weapon at the ready to cover while the EOD operator conducted a quick
search of the prisoner. Finding no weapons, we then continued back and
linked up with our team and, once there, handed off the prisoner to the
designated prisoner-handling team with the assault force. Then I resumed
my role as ground force commander, directing my mobility commander in
charge of the vehicles to move a Humvee with its .50-caliber heavy
machine gun to a position where we could repel any further attacks from the
direction the enemy fighters had come. Next I had our SEAL radioman
communicate with our Tactical Operations Center (TOC) located miles
away to keep them informed and get the TOC spinning to coordinate air
support to assist us.
For the next half hour, the insurgent fighters attempted to maneuver on
us and dumped hundreds of rounds in our direction. But we remained one
step ahead of them and repeatedly beat back their attacks. The man we had
chased down turned out not to be our target. He was briefly detained for
questioning, turned over to a detention facility, but then released. We didn’t
find our target that night. The al Qaeda in Iraq emir had apparently departed
sometime prior to our arrival. But we killed at least a handful of his fighters
and we collected valuable intelligence on his operations and organization.
Though the operation failed to achieve its primary objective, we did
demonstrate to the terrorist and his cronies that there were no areas where
they could safely hide. This likely forced him (in the short term, at least) to
focus efforts on his own preservation rather than plotting his next attack. In
that, we had helped protect American lives, in addition to Iraqi security
forces and innocent civilians, which was at least a consolation prize.
For me, the biggest gain was in leadership lessons learned. Some were
simple, as in the acknowledgment that before any combat operation, I
needed to do a much more careful map study to memorize the basic layout
and the area around the target for those times when I couldn’t immediately
access my map. Some lessons were procedural, like establishing clear
guidance for all our operators about just how far we should chase squirters
without first coordinating with the rest of the team. Other lessons were
strategic: with proper understanding and application of the Laws of
Combat, we had not only survived a difficult and dangerous situation but
dominated. As an entire generation of SEAL combat leaders and I would
learn, these Laws of Combat could be applied with equal effectiveness in an
intense firefight or in far less dynamic or high-pressure situations. They
guided me through months of sustained urban combat in Ramadi,
throughout my career as a SEAL officer, and beyond.
Those same principles are the key to any team’s success on the
battlefield or in the business world—any situation where a group of people
must work together to execute a task and accomplish a mission. When
applied to any team, group, or organization, the proper understanding and
execution of these Laws of Combat would mean one thing: victory.
LEADERSHIP: THE SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT FACTOR
Leif Babin and Jocko Willink
This book is about leadership. It was written for leaders of teams large and
small, for men and women, for any person who aspires to better themselves.
Though it contains exciting accounts of SEAL combat operations, this book
is not a war memoir. It is instead a collection of lessons learned from our
experiences to help other leaders achieve victory. If it serves as a useful
guide to leaders who aspire to build, train, and lead high-performance
winning teams, then it has accomplished its purpose.
Among the legions of leadership books in publication, we found most
focus on individual practices and personal character traits. We also
observed that many corporate leadership training programs and
management consulting firms do the same. But without a team—a group of
individuals working to accomplish a mission—there can be no leadership.
The only meaningful measure for a leader is whether the team succeeds or
fails. For all the definitions, descriptions, and characterizations of leaders,
there are only two that matter: effective and ineffective. Effective leaders
lead successful teams that accomplish their mission and win. Ineffective
leaders do not. The principles and concepts described in this book, when
properly understood and implemented, enable any leader to become
effective and dominate his or her battlefield.
Every leader and every team at some point or time will fail and must
confront that failure. That too is a big part of this book. We are by no means
infallible leaders; no one is, no matter how experienced. Nor do we have all
the answers; no leader does. We’ve made huge mistakes. Often our
mistakes provided the greatest lessons, humbled us, and enabled us to grow
and become better. For leaders, the humility to admit and own mistakes and
develop a plan to overcome them is essential to success. The best leaders
are not driven by ego or personal agendas. They are simply focused on the
mission and how best to accomplish it.
* * *
As leaders, we have experienced both triumph and tragedy. The bulk of our
combat experiences and the stories told in this book come from what will
always be the highlight of our military careers: SEAL Team Three, Task
Unit Bruiser, and our historic combat deployment to Ar Ramadi, Iraq, in
2006 through what became known as the “Battle of Ramadi.” Jocko led
Bruiser as task unit commander. Leif and his SEALs of Charlie Platoon,
including lead sniper and point man Chris Kyle, the “American Sniper,” and
their brother SEALs in Delta Platoon fought in what remains some of the
heaviest, sustained urban combat operations in the history of the SEAL
Teams. Bruiser SEALs played an integral role in the U.S. Army 1st
Armored Division, Ready First Brigade’s “Seize, Clear, Hold, and Build”
strategy that systemically liberated the war-torn, insurgent-held city of
Ramadi and radically lowered the level of violence. These operations
established security in the most dangerous and volatile area in Iraq at the
time and set the conditions for the “Anbar Awakening,” a movement that
eventually turned the tide for the United States in Iraq.
In the spring of 2006 when Task Unit Bruiser first arrived in Ramadi,
the war-torn capital city of Al Anbar Province was the deadly epicenter of
the Iraqi insurgency. Ramadi, a city of four hundred thousand, was a total
war zone marred by rubble-pile buildings and bomb craters—the scars of
continuous violence. At that time, U.S. forces controlled only about onethird of the city. A brutal insurgency of well-armed and determined enemy
fighters controlled the rest. Every day, brave U.S. Soldiers and Marines
were bloodied. The Camp Ramadi medical facility saw a near constant flow
of severely wounded or dead. Valiant U.S. military surgical teams
desperately fought to save lives. A U.S. intelligence report leaked to the
press grimly labeled Ramadi and Anbar Province “all but lost.” Virtually no
one thought it possible that U.S. forces could turn the situation around there
and win.
Through the summer and fall of 2006, Jocko orchestrated Task Unit
Bruiser’s contribution to the Ready First Brigade’s efforts as his SEAL
platoons fought side by side with U.S. Army Soldiers and Marines to clear
out enemy-held areas of the city. Leif led Charlie Platoon’s SEALs in scores
of violent gun battles and highly effective sniper overwatch missions. Delta
Platoon fought countless fierce battles as well. Together, Task Unit Bruiser
SEALs—snipers, riflemen, and machine gunners—killed hundreds of
enemy fighters and disrupted enemy attacks on U.S. Soldiers, Marines, and
Iraqi security forces.
Bruiser SEALs frequently spearheaded the Ready First operations as the
first U.S. troops on the ground in the most dangerous, enemy-held
neighborhoods. We secured buildings, took the high ground, and then
provided cover as Soldiers and Marines moved into contested areas and
Army combat engineers furiously worked to build and fortify outposts in
enemy territory. Bruiser SEALs and the Ready First Soldiers and Marines
built a bond that will forever be remembered by those who served there.
Through much blood, sweat, and toil, the Ready First Combat Team and
Task Unit Bruiser accomplished the mission. The violent insurgency was
routed from the city, tribal sheikhs in Ramadi joined with U.S. forces, and
the Anbar Awakening was born. Ultimately, in the months following TU
Bruiser’s departure, Ramadi was stabilized and the level of violence
plummeted to levels previously unimaginable.
Tragically, Task Unit Bruiser paid a tremendous cost for the success of
these operations: eight SEALs were wounded and three of the best SEAL
warriors imaginable gave their lives. Marc Lee and Mike Monsoor were
killed in action; Ryan Job was blinded by an enemy sniper’s bullet and later
died while in the hospital recovering from surgery to repair his combat
wounds. These losses were devastating to us. And yet they were only three
of nearly one hundred U.S. troops killed in action that were part of the
Ready First Brigade Combat Team, each one a tragic, immeasurable loss.
Despite the doubters and naysayers, Ramadi was won, the city
stabilized, and the populace secured. By early 2007, enemy attacks plunged
from an average of thirty to fifty each day throughout much of 2006, to an
average of one per week, then one per month. Ramadi remained a model of
stability and one of the safest areas of Iraq, outside the historically stable
Kurdish-controlled north, for years afterward.
These operations were victorious but also extremely humbling; the
takeaways—both good and bad—vast. The Battle of Ramadi provided a
litany of lessons learned, which we were able to capture and pass on. The
greatest of these was the recognition that leadership is the most important
factor on the battlefield, the single greatest reason behind the success of any
team. By leadership, we do not mean just the senior commanders at the top,
but the crucial leaders at every level of the team—the senior enlisted
leaders, the fire team leaders in charge of four people, the squad leaders in
charge of eight, and the junior petty officers that stepped up, took charge,
and led. They each played an integral role in the success of our team. We
were fortunate for the opportunity to lead such an amazing group of SEALs
who triumphed in that difficult fight.
* * *
Upon returning home from combat, we stepped into critical roles as
leadership instructors. For many years, Navy SEAL leadership training
consisted almost entirely of OJT (on the job training) and mentoring. How a
junior leader was brought up depended entirely on the strength, experience,
and patient guidance of a mentor. Some mentors were exceptional; others,
lacking. While mentorship from the right leaders is critical, this method left
some substantial gaps in leadership knowledge and understanding. We
helped to change that and developed leadership training curriculum to build
a strong foundation for all SEAL leaders.
As the officer in charge of all training for the West Coast SEAL Teams,
Jocko directed some of the most realistic and challenging combat training in
the world. He placed new emphasis on training leaders in critical decision
making and effective communication in high-pressure situations to better
prepare them for combat. Leif ran the SEAL Junior Officer Training
Course, the basic leadership training program for every officer who
graduated from the SEAL training pipeline. There, he reshaped and
enhanced training to more effectively establish the critical leadership
foundations necessary for new SEAL officers to succeed in combat. In these
roles, we helped guide a new generation of SEAL leaders who continue to
perform with unparalleled success on the battlefield, validating the
leadership principles we taught them.
* * *
Some may wonder how Navy SEAL combat leadership principles translate
outside the military realm to leading any team in any capacity. But combat
is reflective of life, only amplified and intensified. Decisions have
immediate consequences, and everything—absolutely everything—is at
stake. The right decision, even when all seems lost, can snatch victory from
the jaws of defeat. The wrong decision, even when a victorious outcome
seems all but certain, can result in deadly, catastrophic failure. In that
regard, a combat leader can acquire a lifetime of leadership lessons learned
in only a few deployments.
We hope to dispel the myth that military leadership is easy because
subordinates robotically and blindly follow orders. On the contrary, U.S.
military personnel are smart, creative, freethinking individuals—human
beings. They must literally risk life and limb to accomplish the mission. For
this reason, they must believe in the cause for which they are fighting. They
must believe in the plan they are asked to execute, and most important, they
must believe in and trust the leader they are asked to follow. This is
especially true in the SEAL Teams, where innovation and input from
everyone (including the most junior personnel) are encouraged.
Combat leadership requires getting a diverse team of people in various
groups to execute highly complex missions in order to achieve strategic
goals—something that directly correlates with any company or
organization. The same principles that make SEAL combat leaders and
SEAL units so effective on the battlefield can be applied to the business
world with the same success.
Since leaving the SEAL Teams, we have worked with companies across
a wide array of industries, from the financial, energy, technology, and
construction sectors to the insurance, auto, retail, manufacturing,
pharmaceutical, and service sectors. Having trained and worked with a large
number of leaders and company leadership teams, we have witnessed the
extraordinary impact in increased efficiency, productivity, and profitability
that results when these principles are properly understood and implemented.
The leadership and teamwork concepts contained in this book are not
abstract theories, but practical and applicable. We encourage leaders to do
the things they know they probably should be doing but aren’t. By not
doing those things, they are failing as leaders and failing their teams. While
rooted in common sense and based on the reality of practical experience,
these principles require skill to implement. Such concepts are simple, but
not easy,3 and they apply to virtually any situation—to any group, team,
organization, or individual seeking to improve performance, capability,
efficiency, and teamwork. They are sometimes counterintuitive and require
focused effort and training to implement in practice. But this book provides
the necessary guidance so that anyone can apply the principles and, with
dedication and discipline over time, master them and become effective
leaders.
ORGANIZATION AND STRUCTURE
The lessons we learned as SEAL leaders through our combined years of
experience are numerous. For this book, we have focused our efforts on the
most critical aspects: the fundamental building blocks of leadership. The
book derives its title from the underlying principle—the mind-set—that
provides the foundation for all the rest: Extreme Ownership. Leaders must
own everything in their world. There is no one else to blame.
This book is organized into three parts: Part I: “Winning the War
Within”; Part II: “The Laws of Combat”; and Part III: “Sustaining Victory.”
“Winning the War Within” develops the fundamental building blocks and
mind-set necessary to lead and win. “The Laws of Combat” covers the four
critical concepts (described earlier) that enable a team to perform at the
highest level and dominate. Finally, “Sustaining Victory” discusses the
more nuanced and difficult balance that leaders must navigate in order to
maintain the edge and keep the team perpetually operating at the highest
level.
Each chapter focuses on a different leadership concept, each unique
though closely related and often mutually supporting. Within each chapter
there are three subsections. The first identifies a leadership lesson learned
through our U.S. Navy SEAL combat or training experience. The second
subsection explains that leadership principle. The third demonstrates the
principle’s application to the business world, based on our work with a
multitude of companies in a broad range of industries.
We believe in these leadership concepts because we have seen them
work time and again, both in combat and in business. Their proper
application and understanding ensure effective leaders and high-performing
teams that produce extraordinary results. These principles empower those
teams to dominate their battlefields by enabling leaders to fulfill their
purpose: lead and win.
PART I
WINNING THE WAR WITHIN
U.S. Army M1A2 Abrams Main Battle Tank from Task Force Bandit as seen through a SEAL sniper
loophole. Task Force Bandit (1st Battalion, 37th Armored Regiment of the 1st Brigade, 1st Armored
Division) was an outstanding unit with whom Bruiser SEALs worked closely. They were aggressive,
professional, and courageous. Loopholes, created by either explosives or manual tools, allowed
SEAL snipers to observe and engage enemy fighters while remaining somewhat protected from
enemy fire.
(Photo courtesy of the authors)
CHAPTER 1
Extreme Ownership
Jocko Willink
THE MA’LAAB DISTRICT, RAMADI, IRAQ: FOG OF WAR
The early morning light was dimmed by a literal fog of war that filled the
air: soot from tires the insurgents had set alight in the streets, clouds of dust
kicked up from the road by U.S. tanks and Humvees, and powdered
concrete from the walls of buildings pulverized by machine gun fire. As our
armored Humvee rounded the corner and headed down the street toward the
gunfire, I saw a U.S. M1A2 Abrams tank in the middle of the road up
ahead, its turret rotated with the huge main gun trained on a building at
almost point-blank range. Through the particle-filled air, I could see a
smoky-red mist, clearly from a red smoke grenade used by American forces
in the area as a general signal for “Help!”
My mind was racing. This was our first major operation in Ramadi and
it was total chaos. Beyond the literal fog of war impeding our vision, the
figurative “fog of war,” often attributed to Prussian military strategist Carl
von Clausewitz,1 had descended upon us, and it was thick with confusion,
inaccurate information, broken communications, and mayhem. For this
operation, we had four separate elements of SEALs in various sectors of
this violent, war-torn city: two SEAL sniper teams with U.S. Army scout
snipers and a contingent of Iraqi soldiers, and another element of SEALs
embedded with Iraqi soldiers and their U.S. Army combat advisors assigned
to clear an entire sector building by building. Finally, my SEAL senior
enlisted advisor (a noncommissioned officer) and I rode along with one of
the Army company commanders. In total, about three hundred U.S. and
Iraqi troops—friendly forces—were operating in this dangerous and hotly
contested neighborhood of eastern Ramadi known as the Ma’laab District.
The entire place was crawling with muj (pronounced “mooj”), as American
forces called them. The enemy insurgent fighters called themselves
mujahideen, Arabic for “those engaged in jihad,” which we shortened for
expediency. They subscribed to a ruthless, militant version of Islam and
they were cunning, barbaric, and lethal. For years, the Ma’laab had
remained firmly in their hands. Now, U.S. forces aimed to change that.
The operation had kicked off before sunrise, and with the sun now
creeping up over the horizon, everyone was shooting. The myriad radio
networks (or nets) used by the U.S. ground and air units exploded with
chatter and incoming reports. Details of U.S. and Iraqi troops wounded or
killed came in from different sectors. Following them were reports of
enemy fighters killed. U.S. elements tried to decipher what was happening
with other U.S. and Iraqi units in adjacent sectors. U.S. Marine Corps
ANGLICO (Air-Naval Gunfire Liaison Company) teams coordinated with
American attack aircraft overhead in an effort to drop bombs on enemy
positions.
Only a few hours into the operation, both of my SEAL sniper elements
had been attacked and were now embroiled in serious gunfights. As the
element of Iraqi soldiers, U.S. Army Soldiers, and our SEALs cleared
buildings across the sector, they met heavy resistance. Dozens of insurgent
fighters mounted blistering attacks with PKC2 Russian belt-fed machine
guns, deadly RPG-7 shoulder-fired rockets, and AK-47 automatic rifle fire.
As we monitored the radio, we heard the U.S. advisors with one of the Iraqi
Army elements in advance of the rest report they were engaged in a fierce
firefight and requested the QRF (Quick Reaction Force) for help. This
particular QRF consisted of four U.S. Army armored Humvees, each
mounted with an M2 .50-caliber heavy machine gun, and a dozen or so U.S.
Soldiers that could dismount and render assistance. Minutes later, over the
radio net, one of my SEAL sniper teams called for the “heavy QRF,” a
section (meaning two) of U.S. M1A2 Abrams Main Battle Tanks that could
bring the thunder with their 120mm main guns and machine guns. That
meant my SEALs were in a world of hurt and in need of serious help. I
asked the U.S. Army company commander we were with to follow the
tanks in, and he complied.
Our Humvee rolled to a stop just behind one of the Abrams tanks, its
huge main gun pointed directly at a building and ready to engage. Pushing
open the heavy armored door of my vehicle, I stepped out onto the street. I
had a gut feeling that something was wrong.
Running over to a Marine ANGLICO gunnery sergeant, I asked him,
“What’s going on?”
“Hot damn!” he shouted with excitement. “There’s some muj in that
building right there putting up a serious fight!” He pointed to the building
across the street, his weapon trained in that direction. It was clear he
thought these muj were hard-core. “They killed one of our Iraqi soldiers
when we entered the building and wounded a few more. We’ve been
hammering them, and I’m working to get some bombs dropped on ’em
now.” He was in the midst of coordinating an airstrike with U.S. aircraft
overhead to wipe out the enemy fighters holed up inside the building.
I looked around. The building he pointed to was riddled with bullet
holes. The QRF Humvees had put over 150 rounds from a .50-caliber heavy
machine gun into it and many more smaller caliber rounds from their rifles
and light machines. Now the Abrams tank had its huge main gun trained on
the building, preparing to reduce it to rubble and kill everyone inside. And
if that still didn’t do the job, bombs from the sky would be next.
But something didn’t add up. We were extremely close to where one of
our SEAL sniper teams was supposed to be. That sniper team had
abandoned the location they had originally planned to use and were in the
process of relocating to a new building when all the shooting started. In the
mayhem, they hadn’t reported their exact location, but I knew it would be
close to the point where I was standing, close to the building the Marine
gunny had just pointed to. What really didn’t add up was that these Iraqi
soldiers and their U.S. advisors shouldn’t have arrived here for another
couple of hours. No other friendly forces were to have entered this sector
until we had properly “deconflicted”—determined the exact position of our
SEAL sniper team and passed that information to the other friendly units in
the operation. But for some reason there were dozens of Iraqi troops and
their U.S. Army and Marine combat advisors in the area. It made no sense
to me.
“Hold what you got, Gunny. I’m going to check it out,” I said,
motioning toward the building on which he had been working to coordinate
the airstrike. He looked at me as if I were completely crazy. His Marines
and a full platoon of Iraqi soldiers had been engaged in a vicious firefight
with the enemy fighters inside that house and couldn’t dislodge them.
Whoever they were, they had put up one hell of a fight. In the gunny’s
mind, for us to even approach that place was pretty much suicidal. I nodded
at my senior enlisted SEAL, who nodded back, and we moved across the
street toward the enemy-infested house. Like most of the houses in Iraq,
there was an eight-foot concrete wall around it. We approached the door to
the compound, which was slightly open. With my M4 rifle at the ready, I
kicked the door the rest of the way open only to find I was staring at one of
my SEAL platoon chiefs. He stared back at me in wide-eyed surprise.
“What happened?” I asked him.
“Some muj entered the compound. We shot one of them and they
attacked—hard-core. They brought it.” I remembered what the gunny had
just told me: one of their Iraqi soldiers had been shot when he entered the
compound.
At that moment, it all became clear. In the chaos and confusion,
somehow a rogue element of Iraqi soldiers had strayed outside the
boundaries to which they had been confined and attempted to enter the
building occupied by our SEAL sniper team. In the early morning darkness,
our SEAL sniper element had seen the silhouette of a man armed with an
AK-47 creep into their compound. While there were not supposed to be any
friendlies in the vicinity, there were many enemy fighters known to be in
the area. With that in mind, our SEALs had engaged the man with the AK47, thinking they were under attack. Then all hell broke loose.
When gunfire erupted from the house, the Iraqi soldiers outside the
compound returned fire and pulled back behind the cover of the concrete
walls across the street and in the surrounding buildings. They called in
reinforcements, and U.S. Marines and Army troops responded with a
vicious barrage of gunfire into the house they assumed was occupied by
enemy fighters. Meanwhile, inside the house our SEALs were pinned down
and unable to clearly identify that it was friendlies shooting at them. All
they could do was return fire as best they could and keep up the fight to
prevent being overrun by what they thought were enemy fighters. The U.S.
Marine ANGLICO team had come very close to directing airstrikes on the
house our SEALs were holed up in. When the .50-caliber machine gun
opened up on their position, our SEAL sniper element inside the building,
thinking they were under heavy enemy attack, called in the heavy QRF
Abrams tanks for support. That’s when I had arrived on the scene.
Inside the compound, the SEAL chief stared back at me, somewhat
confused. He no doubt wondered how I had just walked through the
hellacious enemy attack to reach his building.
“It was a blue-on-blue,” I said to him. Blue-on-blue—friendly fire,
fratricide—the worst thing that could happen. To be killed or wounded by
the enemy in battle was bad enough. But to be accidently killed or wounded
by friendly fire because someone had screwed up was the most horrible
fate. It was also a reality. I had heard the story of X-Ray Platoon from
SEAL Team One in Vietnam. The squads split up on a night patrol in the
jungle, lost their bearings, and when they bumped into each other again in
the darkness, they mistook each other for enemy and opened up with
gunfire. A ferocious firefight ensued, leaving one of their own dead and
several wounded. That was the last X-Ray Platoon in the SEAL Teams.
Henceforth, the name was banished. It was a curse—and a lesson. Friendly
fire was completely unacceptable in the SEAL Teams. And now it had just
happened to us—to my SEAL task unit.
“What?” the SEAL chief asked with utter disbelief.
“It was a blue-on-blue,” I said again, calmly and as a matter of fact.
There was no time to debate or discuss. There were real bad guys out there,
and even as we spoke, sporadic gunfire could be heard all around as other
elements engaged insurgents in the vicinity. “Now what do ya got?” I asked,
needing to know his status and that of his men.
“One SEAL fragged in the face—not too bad. But everyone is rattled.
Let’s get them out of here,” replied the chief.
An armored personnel carrier (APC)3 had arrived with the heavy QRF
and was sitting out front. “There’s an APC out front. Get your boys loaded
up,” I told him.
“Roger,” said the chief.
The SEAL chief, one of the best tactical leaders I’d ever known, quickly
got the rest of his SEALs and other troopers down to the front door. They
looked more rattled than any human beings I had ever seen. Having been on
the receiving end of devastating .50-caliber machine gun rounds punching
through the walls around them, they had stared death in the face and did not
think they would survive. But they quickly got it together, boarded the
APC, and left for the nearby U.S. forward operating base—except the
SEAL chief. Tough as nails and ready for more, he stayed with me, unfazed
by what had happened and ready for whatever came next.
I made my way back over to the Marine ANGLICO gunny. “The
building is clear,” I told him.
“Roger that, Sir,” he replied, looking surprised as he quickly reported it
on the radio.
“Where’s the captain?” I asked, wanting to find the U.S. Army company
commander.
“Upstairs, here,” he replied motioning toward the building we were in
front of.
I walked upstairs and found the company commander hunkered down
on the roof of a building. “Everyone OK?” he asked.
“It was a blue-on-blue,” I replied bluntly.
“What?” he asked, stunned.
“It was a blue-on-blue,” I repeated. “One Iraqi soldier KIA,4 a few more
wounded. One of my guys wounded, fragged in the face. Everyone else is
OK, by a miracle.”
“Roger,” he replied, stunned and disappointed at what had transpired.
No doubt, as an outstanding leader himself, he felt somewhat responsible.
But having operated in this chaotic urban battlefield for months alongside
Iraqi soldiers, he knew how easily such a thing could happen.
But we still had work to do and had to drive on. The operation
continued. We conducted two more back-to-back missions, cleared a large
portion of the Ma’laab District, and killed dozens of insurgents. The rest of
the mission was a success.
But that didn’t matter. I felt sick. One of my men was wounded. An
Iraqi soldier was dead and others were wounded. We did it to ourselves, and
it happened under my command.
When we completed the last mission of the day, I went to the battalion
tactical operations center where I had my field computer set up to receive email from higher headquarters. I dreaded opening and answering the
inevitable e-mail inquiries about what had transpired. I wished I had died
out on the battlefield. I felt that I deserved it.
My e-mail in-box was full. Word had rapidly spread that we had had a
blue-on-blue. I opened an e-mail from my commanding officer (CO) that
went straight to the point. It read: “SHUT DOWN. CONDUCT NO MORE
OPERATIONS. INVESTIGATING OFFICER, COMMAND MASTER
CHIEF, AND I ARE EN ROUTE.” In typical fashion for a Navy mishap,
the CO had appointed an investigating officer to determine the facts of what
happened and who was responsible.
Another e-mail from one of my old bosses stationed in another city in
Iraq, but privy to what was happening in Ramadi, read simply, “Heard you
had a blue-on-blue. What the hell?”
All the good things I had done and the solid reputation I had worked
hard to establish in my career as a SEAL were now meaningless. Despite
the many successful combat operations I had led, I was now the commander
of a unit that had committed the SEAL mortal sin.
A day passed as I waited for the arrival of the investigating officer, our
CO, and command master chief (CMC), the senior enlisted SEAL at the
command. In the meantime, they directed me to prepare a brief detailing
what had happened. I knew what this meant. They were looking for
someone to blame, and most likely someone to “relieve”—the military
euphemism for someone to fire.
Frustrated, angry, and disappointed that this had happened, I began
gathering information. As we debriefed, it was obvious there were some
serious mistakes made by many individuals both during the planning phase
and on the battlefield during execution. Plans were altered but notifications
weren’t sent. The communication plan was ambiguous, and confusion about
the specific timing of radio procedures contributed to critical failures. The
Iraqi Army had adjusted their plan but had not told us. Timelines were
pushed without clarification. Locations of friendly forces had not been
reported. The list went on and on.
Within Task Unit Bruiser—my own SEAL troop—similar mistakes had
been made. The specific location of the sniper team in question had not
been passed on to other units. Positive identification of the assumed enemy
combatant, who turned out to be an Iraqi soldier, had been insufficient. A
thorough SITREP (situation report) had not been passed to me after the
initial engagement took place.
The list of mistakes was substantial. As directed, I put together a brief, a
Microsoft PowerPoint presentation with timelines and depictions of the
movements of friendly units on a map of the area. Then I assembled the list
of everything that everyone had done wrong.
It was a thorough explanation of what had happened. It outlined the
critical failures that had turned the mission into a nightmare and cost the life
of one Iraqi soldier, wounded several more, and, but for a true miracle,
could have cost several of our SEALs their lives.
But something was missing. There was some problem, some piece that I
hadn’t identified, and it made me feel like the truth wasn’t coming out. Who
was to blame?
I reviewed my brief again and again trying to figure out the missing
piece, the single point of failure that had led to the incident. But there were
so many factors, and I couldn’t figure it out.
Finally, the CO, the CMC, and the investigating officer arrived at our
base. They were going to drop their gear, grab some food at the chow hall,
and then we would bring everyone together to debrief the event.
I looked through my notes again, trying to place the blame.
Then it hit me.
Despite all the failures of individuals, units, and leaders, and despite the
myriad mistakes that had been made, there was only one person to blame
for everything that had gone wrong on the operation: me. I hadn’t been with
our sniper team when they engaged the Iraqi soldier. I hadn’t been
controlling the rogue element of Iraqis that entered the compound. But that
didn’t matter. As the SEAL task unit commander, the senior leader on the
ground in charge of the mission, I was responsible for everything in Task
Unit Bruiser. I had to take complete ownership of what went wrong. That is
what a leader does—even if it means getting fired. If anyone was to be
blamed and fired for what happened, let it be me.
A few minutes later, I walked into the platoon space where everyone
was gathered to debrief. The silence was deafening. The CO sat in the front
row. The CMC stood ominously in the back. The SEAL that had been
wounded—fragged in the face by a .50-caliber round—was there, his face
bandaged up.
I stood before the group. “Whose fault was this?” I asked to the roomful
of teammates.
After a few moments of silence, the SEAL who had mistakenly engaged
the Iraqi solider spoke up: “It was my fault. I should have positively
identified my target.”
“No,” I responded, “It wasn’t your fault. Whose fault was it?” I asked
the group again.
“It was my fault,” said the radioman from the sniper element. “I should
have passed our position sooner.”
“Wrong,” I responded. “It wasn’t your fault. Whose fault was it?” I
asked again.
“It was my fault,” said another SEAL, who was a combat advisor with
the Iraqi Army clearance team. “I should have controlled the Iraqis and
made sure they stayed in their sector.”
“Negative,” I said. “You are not to blame.” More of my SEALs were
ready to explain what they had done wrong and how it had contributed to
the failure. But I had heard enough.
“You know whose fault this is? You know who gets all the blame for
this?” The entire group sat there in silence, including the CO, the CMC, and
the investigating officer. No doubt they were wondering whom I would hold
responsible. Finally, I took a deep breath and said, “There is only one
person to blame for this: me. I am the commander. I am responsible for the
entire operation. As the senior man, I am responsible for every action that
takes place on the battlefield. There is no one to blame but me. And I will
tell you this right now: I will make sure that nothing like this ever happens
to us again.”
It was a heavy burden to bear. But it was absolutely true. I was the
leader. I was in charge and I was responsible. Thus, I had to take ownership
of everything that went wrong. Despite the tremendous blow to my
reputation and to my ego, it was the right thing to do—the only thing to do.
I apologized to the wounded SEAL, explaining that it was my fault he was
wounded and that we were all lucky he wasn’t dead. We then proceeded to
go through the entire operation, piece by piece, identifying everything that
happened and what we could do going forward to prevent it from happening
again.
Looking back, it is clear that, despite what happened, the full ownership
I took of the situation actually increased the trust my commanding officer
and master chief had in me. If I had tried to pass the blame on to others, I
suspect I would have been fired—deservedly so. The SEALs in the troop,
who did not expect me to take the blame, respected the fact that I had taken
full responsibility for everything that had happened. They knew it was a
dynamic situation caused by a multitude of factors, but I owned them all.
The U.S. Army and U.S. Marine conventional commanders took the
debrief points as lessons learned and moved on. Having fought in Ramadi
for an extended period of time, they understood something we SEALs did
not: blue-on-blue was a risk that had to be mitigated as much as possible in
an urban environment, but that risk could not be eliminated. This was urban
combat, the most complex and difficult of all warfare, and it was simply
impossible to conduct operations without some risk of blue-on-blue. But for
SEALs accustomed to working in small groups against point targets,
fratricide should never happen.
A very senior and highly respected SEAL officer, who before joining
the Navy had been a U.S. Marine Corps platoon commander in Vietnam at
the historic Battle of Hue City, came to visit our task unit shortly after the
incident. He told me that many of the Marine casualties in Hue were
friendly fire, part of the brutal reality of urban combat. He understood what
we had experienced and just how easily it could happen.
But, while a blue-on-blue incident in an environment like Ramadi might
be likely, if not expected, we vowed to never let it happen again. We
analyzed what had happened and implemented the lessons learned. We
revised our standard operating procedures and planning methodology to
better mitigate risk. As a result of this tragic incident, we undoubtedly
saved lives going forward. While we were mistakenly engaged by friendly
elements again many times during the rest of the deployment, we never let
it escalate and were always able to regain control quickly.
But the tactical avoidance of fratricide was only part of what I learned.
When I returned home from deployment, I took over Training Detachment
One, which managed all training for West Coast SEAL platoons and task
units in preparation for combat deployments. I set up scenarios where blueon-blue shootings were almost guaranteed to happen. When they did, we,
the training cadre, explained how to avoid them.
But more important, the commanders in training could learn what I had
learned about leadership. While some commanders took full responsibility
for blue-on-blue, others blamed their subordinates for simulated fratricide
incidents in training. These weaker commanders would get a solid
explanation about the burden of command and the deep meaning of
responsibility: the leader is truly and ultimately responsible for everything.
That is Extreme Ownership, the fundamental core of what constitutes an
effective leader in the SEAL Teams or in any leadership endeavor.
PRINCIPLE
On any team, in any organization, all responsibility for success and failure
rests with the leader. The leader must own everything in his or her world.
There is no one else to blame. The leader must acknowledge mistakes and
admit failures, take ownership of them, and develop a plan to win.
The best leaders don’t just take responsibility for their job. They take
Extreme Ownership of everything that impacts their mission. This
fundamental core concept enables SEAL leaders to lead high-performing
teams in extraordinary circumstances and win. But Extreme Ownership
isn’t a principle whose application is limited to the battlefield. This concept
is the number-one characteristic of any high-performance winning team, in
any military unit, organization, sports team or business team in any
industry.
When subordinates aren’t doing what they should, leaders that exercise
Extreme Ownership cannot blame the subordinates. They must first look in
the mirror at themselves. The leader bears full responsibility for explaining
the strategic mission, developing the tactics, and securing the training and
resources to enable the team to properly and successfully execute.
If an individual on the team is not performing at the level required for
the team to succeed, the leader must train and mentor that underperformer.
But if the underperformer continually fails to meet standards, then a leader
who exercises Extreme Ownership must be loyal to the team and the
mission above any individual. If underperformers cannot improve, the
leader must make the tough call to terminate them and hire others who can
get the job done. It is all on the leader.
As individuals, we often attribute the success of others to luck or
circumstances and make excuses for our own failures and the failures of our
team. We blame our own poor performance on bad luck, circumstances
beyond our control, or poorly performing subordinates—anyone but
ourselves. Total responsibility for failure is a difficult thing to accept, and
taking ownership when things go wrong requires extraordinary humility and
courage. But doing just that is an absolute necessity to learning, growing as
a leader, and improving a team’s performance.
Extreme Ownership requires leaders to look at an organization’s
problems through the objective lens of reality, without emotional
attachments to agendas or plans. It mandates that a leader set ego aside,
accept responsibility for failures, attack weaknesses, and consistently work
to a build a better and more effective team. Such a leader, however, does not
take credit for his or her team’s successes but bestows that honor upon his
subordinate leaders and team members. When a leader sets such an example
and expects this from junior leaders within the team, the mind-set develops
into the team’s culture at every level. With Extreme Ownership, junior
leaders take charge of their smaller teams and their piece of the mission.
Efficiency and effectiveness increase exponentially and a highperformance, winning team is the result.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
The vice president’s plan looked good on paper. The board of directors had
approved the plan the previous year and thought it could decrease
production costs. But it wasn’t working. And the board wanted to find out
why. Who was at fault? Who was to blame?
I was brought on by the company to help provide leadership guidance
and executive coaching to the company’s vice president of manufacturing
(VP). Although technically sound and experienced in his particular industry,
the VP hadn’t met the manufacturing goals set forth by the company’s
board of directors. His plan included the following: consolidate
manufacturing plants to eliminate redundancy, increase worker productivity
through an incentivized bonus program, and streamline the manufacturing
process.
The problem arose in the plan’s execution. At each quarterly board
meeting, the VP delivered a myriad of excuses as to why so little of his plan
had been executed. After a year, the board wondered if he could effectively
lead this change. With little progress to show, the VP’s job was now at risk.
I arrived on scene two weeks before the next board meeting. After
spending several hours with the CEO to get some color on the situation, I
was introduced to the VP of manufacturing. My initial assessment was
positive. The VP was extremely smart and incredibly knowledgeable about
the business. But would he be open to coaching?
“So, you’re here to help me, right?” the VP inquired.
Knowing that, due to ego, some people bristle at the idea of criticism
and coaching no matter how constructive, I chose to take a more indirect
approach.
“Maybe not so much here to help you, but here to help the situation,” I
answered, effectively lowering the VP’s defenses.
In the weeks leading up to the board meeting, I researched and
examined the details of why the VP’s plan had failed and what had gone
wrong, and I spoke to the VP about the problems encountered in the plan’s
execution. He explained that the consolidation of manufacturing plants had
failed because his distribution managers feared that increasing the distance
between plants and distribution centers would prevent face-to-face
interaction with the manufacturing team and reduce their ability to tweak
order specifics. They surmised it would also inhibit their ability to handle
rush-order deliveries. The VP dismissed his distribution managers’
concerns as unfounded. In the event the need arose to adjust orders or
customize, a teleconference or videoconference would more than suffice.
The VP also explained why the incentivized bonus structure hadn’t been
put in place. Each time his plant managers and other key leaders were
presented with the rollout plan, they pushed back with concerns: the
employees wouldn’t make enough money; they would leave for jobs with
higher base salaries that didn’t require minimum standards; recruiters would
capitalize on the change and pull skilled workers away. When the VP
pushed the manufacturing managers harder, they teamed up with the sales
managers. The two groups opposed the VP’s plan, claiming it was the
company’s reputation for skilled manufacturing that kept business coming
in, and such a change would put the business at risk.
Finally, when it came to the VP’s plan to streamline the manufacturing
process, the pushback was universal and straight from the classic mantra of
antichange: “We have always done it this way;” and “If it ain’t broke, don’t
fix it.”
“What does the board think of these reasons?” I asked, as we discussed
the upcoming annual board meeting.
“They listen, but I don’t think they really understand them. And they
have been hearing the same reasons for a while now, so I think they are
getting frustrated. I don’t know if they believe them anymore. They sound
like…”
“Excuses?” I finished the sentence for the VP, knowing the word itself
was a big blow to his ego.
“Yes. Yes, they sound like excuses. But these are real and legitimate,”
insisted the VP.
“Could there be other reasons your plan wasn’t successfully executed?”
I asked.
“Absolutely,” the VP answered. “The market has been tough. New
technology advancements have taken some time to work through. Everyone
got focused on some products that never really amounted to much. So, yes,
there are a host of other reasons.”
“Those all may be factors. But there is one most important reason why
this plan has failed,” I said.
“What reason is that?” the VP inquired with interest.
I paused for a moment to see if the VP was ready for what I had to tell
him. The impact would be uncomfortable, but there was no way around it. I
stated it plainly, “You. You are the reason.”
The VP was surprised, then defensive. “Me?” he protested. “I came up
with the plan! I have delivered it over and over. It’s not my fault they aren’t
executing it!”
I listened patiently.
“The plant managers, the distribution and sales teams don’t fully
support the plan,” he continued. “So how am I supposed to execute it? I’m
not out there in the field with them. I can’t make them listen to me.” The
VP’s statements gradually became less emphatic. He soon realized what he
was saying: he was making excuses.
I explained that the direct responsibility of a leader included getting
people to listen, support, and execute plans. To drive the point home, I told
him, “You can’t make people listen to you. You can’t make them execute.
That might be a temporary solution for a simple task. But to implement real
change, to drive people to accomplish something truly complex or difficult
or dangerous—you can’t make people do those things. You have to lead
them.”
“I did lead them,” the VP protested. “They just didn’t execute.”
But he hadn’t led them, at least not effectively. The measure of this was
clear: he had been unsuccessful in implementing his plan.
“When I was in charge of a SEAL platoon or a SEAL task unit
conducting combat operations, do you think every operation I led was a
success?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Absolutely not,” I agreed. “Sure, I led many operations that went well
and accomplished the mission. But not always. I have been in charge of
operations that went horribly wrong for a number of reasons: bad
intelligence, bad decisions by subordinate leadership, mistakes by shooters,
coordinating units not following the plan. The list goes on. Combat is a
dangerous, complex, dynamic situation, where all kinds of things can go
sideways in a hurry, with life and death consequences. There is no way to
control every decision, every person, every occurrence that happens out
there. It is just impossible. But let me tell you something: when things went
wrong, you know who I blamed?” I asked, pausing slightly for this to sink
in. “Me,” I said. “I blamed me.”
I continued: “As the commander, everything that happened on the
battlefield was my responsibility. Everything. If a supporting unit didn’t do
what we needed it to do, then I hadn’t given clear instructions. If one of my
machine gunners engaged targets outside his field of fire, then I had not
ensured he understood where his field of fire was. If the enemy surprised us
and hit us where we hadn’t expected, then I hadn’t thought through all the
possibilities. No matter what, I could never blame other people when a
mission went wrong.”
The VP contemplated this. After a thoughtful silence, he responded, “I
always thought I was a good leader. I’ve always been in leadership
positions.”
“That might be one of the issues: in your mind you are doing everything
right. So when things go wrong, instead of looking at yourself, you blame
others. But no one is infallible. With Extreme Ownership, you must remove
individual ego and personal agenda. It’s all about the mission. How can you
best get your team to most effectively execute the plan in order to
accomplish the mission?” I continued. “That is the question you have to ask
yourself. That is what Extreme Ownership is all about.”
The VP nodded, beginning to grasp the concept and see its
effectiveness.
“Do you think that every one of your employees is blatantly
disobedient?” I said.
“No,” the VP said.
“If so, they would need to be fired. But that doesn’t seem to be the
situation here,” I continued. “Your people don’t need to be fired. They need
to be led.”
“So what am I doing wrong as a leader?” asked the VP. “How can I lead
them?”
“It all starts right here with you,” I said. “You must assume total
ownership of the failure to implement your new plan. You are to blame.
And that is exactly what you need to tell the board.”
“Tell the board that? Are you serious?” the VP asked in disbelief. “I
don’t mind taking a little blame, but this is not all my fault.” Though
beginning to see the light, he still resisted the idea of taking total
responsibility.
“In order to execute this plan, in order to truly become an effective
leader, you have to realize and accept total responsibility,” I said. “You have
to own it.”
The VP was not yet convinced.
“If one of your manufacturing managers came to you and said, ‘My
team is failing,’ what would your response be? Would you blame their
team?” I asked.
“No,” the VP admitted.
I explained that as the officer in charge of training for the West Coast
SEAL Teams, we put SEAL units through highly demanding scenarios to
get them ready for combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. When SEAL leaders
were placed in worst-case-scenario training situations, it was almost always
the leaders’ attitudes that determined whether their SEAL units would
ultimately succeed or fail. We knew how hard the training missions were
because we had designed them.
In virtually every case, the SEAL troops and platoons that didn’t
perform well had leaders who blamed everyone and everything else—their
troops, their subordinate leaders, or the scenario. They blamed the SEAL
training instructor staff; they blamed inadequate equipment or the
experience level of their men. They refused to accept responsibility. Poor
performance and mission failure were the result.
The best-performing SEAL units had leaders who accepted
responsibility for everything. Every mistake, every failure or shortfall—
those leaders would own it. During the debrief after a training mission,
those good SEAL leaders took ownership of failures, sought guidance on
how to improve, and figured out a way to overcome challenges on the next
iteration. The best leaders checked their egos, accepted blame, sought out
constructive criticism, and took detailed notes for improvement. They
exhibited Extreme Ownership, and as a result, their SEAL platoons and task
units dominated.
When a bad SEAL leader walked into a debrief and blamed everyone
else, that attitude was picked up by subordinates and team members, who
then followed suit. They all blamed everyone else, and inevitably the team
was ineffective and unable to properly execute a plan.
Continuing, I told the VP, “In those situations, you ended up with a unit
that never felt they were to blame for anything. All they did was make
excuses and ultimately never made the adjustments necessary to fix
problems. Now, compare that to the commander who came in and took the
blame. He said, ‘My subordinate leaders made bad calls; I must not have
explained the overall intent well enough.’ Or, ‘The assault force didn’t
execute the way I envisioned; I need to make sure they better understand
my intent and rehearse more thoroughly.’ The good leaders took ownership
of the mistakes and shortfalls. That’s the key difference. And how do you
think their SEAL platoons and task units reacted to this type of leadership?”
“They must have respected that,” the VP acknowledged.
“Exactly. They see Extreme Ownership in their leaders, and, as a result,
they emulate Extreme Ownership throughout the chain of command down
to the most junior personnel. As a group they try to figure out how to fix
their problems—instead of trying to figure out who or what to blame. For
those on the outside looking in, like our training group—or the board in
your case—the difference is obvious.”
“And that is how I appear to the board right now—blaming everyone
and everything else,” the VP recognized.
“There is only one way to fix it,” I told him.
For the next several days, I helped the VP prepare for the board
meeting. At times, he slipped back into defensiveness, not wanting to
accept blame. He felt in many ways that his knowledge exceeded that of
many members of the board—and he was probably right. But that didn’t
change the fact that he was the leader of a team that was failing its mission.
As we rehearsed the VP’s portion of the board presentation, I was
unconvinced that he truly accepted total responsibility for his team’s
failures. I told him that bluntly.
“I’m saying exactly what you told me to say,” the VP retorted. “The
reason that this mission was unsuccessful was my failure as a leader to
force execution.”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “You are saying it, but I’m not convinced
you believe it. Look at your career. You have accomplished amazing things.
But you certainly aren’t perfect. None of us are perfect. You are still
learning and growing. We all are. And this is a lesson for you: if you
reengage on this task, if you do a stern self-assessment of how you lead and
what you can do better, the outcome will be different. But it starts here. It
starts at the board meeting when you go in, put your ego aside, and take
ownership for the company’s failure here. The board members will be
impressed with what they see and hear, because most people are unable to
do this. They will respect your Extreme Ownership. Take personal
responsibility for the failures. You will come out the other side stronger than
ever before,” I concluded.
At the board meeting, the VP did just that. He took the blame for the
failure to meet the manufacturing objectives and gave a solid no-nonsense
list of corrective measures that he would implement to ensure execution.
The list started with what he was going to do differently, not about what
other people needed to do. Now, the VP was on his way to Extreme
Ownership.
“Let’s get it on.” A SEAL turret gunner looks across his M2 .50-caliber heavy machine gun out
Ogden Gate into enemy territory beyond. The giant tank-track vehicle (M88 Recovery Vehicle)
blocking the entrance to Camp Ramadi was used to deter the enemy’s most devastating weapon—the
car bomb or VBIED with several thousand pounds of explosives driven by a suicide bomber. Beyond
the gate, the threat in the city was immense—and no one felt that more than the lead turret gunner in
the first Humvee during a daytime mounted patrol.
(Photo courtesy of the authors)
CHAPTER 2
No Bad Teams, Only Bad Leaders
Leif Babin
CORONADO, CALIFORNIA: BASIC UNDERWATER DEMOLITION/SEAL TRAINING
“It pays to be a winner!” shouted a much-feared blue-and-gold-shirted
Navy SEAL instructor through the megaphone. It was night three into the
infamous Hell Week of SEAL training. The students, in camouflage
fatigues, were soaked to the bone and covered in gritty sand that chafed
them until they were raw and bleeding. They shivered from the cold ocean
water and cool wind of the Southern California night. The students moved
with the aches and pains as only those who have suffered through seventytwo hours straight of nearly nonstop physical exertion can. Exhausted, over
the previous three days they had slept for less than one hour total. Since
Hell Week had begun, dozens of them had quit. Others had become sick or
injured and were pulled from training. When this class had started Basic
Underwater Demolition/SEAL Training (known as BUD/S)—the SEAL
basic training course—several weeks before, nearly two hundred
determined young men had eagerly begun. All dreamed of becoming a U.S.
Navy SEAL, prepared for years, and came to BUD/S with every intention
of graduating. And yet within the first forty-eight hours of Hell Week, most
of those young men had surrendered to the brutal challenge, rung the bell
three times—the signal for DOR, or drop on request—and walked away
from their dream of becoming a SEAL. They had quit.
Hell Week was not a fitness test. While it did require some athletic
ability, every student that survived the weeks of BUD/S training prior to
Hell Week had already demonstrated adequate fitness to graduate. It was
not a physical test but a mental one. Sometimes, the best athletes in the
class didn’t make it through Hell Week. Success resulted from
determination and will, but also from innovation and communication with
the team. Such training graduated men who were not only physically tough
but who could also out-think their adversary.
Only a few years before, I had suffered through my own BUD/S class
Hell Week on this very beach. We began our Hell Week with 101 students.
When we finished only 40 of us remained. Some of the most gifted athletes
in the class and loudest talking muscleheads had been first to quit. Those of
us that had made it through realized we could push ourselves mentally and
physically much further than most ever thought possible through the pain,
misery, and exhaustion of days without sleep—precisely what Hell Week
was designed to do.
Now I wore the blue-and-gold shirt of a SEAL instructor. Following two
combat deployments to Iraq, I was assigned to our Naval Special Warfare
Training Center to instruct the Junior Officer Training Course—our officer
leadership program. In addition to my day job, I supported Hell Week as an
instructor. As the officer in charge of this Hell Week shift, my job was to
oversee the crew of BUD/S instructors who ran the training. The instructors
were experts at their jobs of putting these students to the test. They were
especially skilled at weeding out those who don’t have what it takes to
become a SEAL. For me, to observe Hell Week from the instructor
perspective was a whole new experience.
The BUD/S students were grouped into teams—“boat crews” of seven
men, established by height. Each seven-man boat crew was assigned an IBS
—inflatable boat, small. An IBS was small by U.S. Navy terms but awfully
large and heavy when carried by hand. These large rubber boats, black with
a painted yellow rim, weighed nearly two hundred pounds and became
heavier still when filled with water and sand. A relic from the Navy
Frogmen (Underwater Demolition Team) days of World War II, the dreaded
boats had to be awkwardly carried everywhere, usually upon the heads of
the seven boat-crew members struggling underneath. On land, the boat
crews carried them up and over twenty-feet-high sand berms and ran with
them for miles along the beach. They carried them on the hard asphalt
streets back and forth across Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, trying like
hell to keep up with instructors leading the way. The boat crews even
pushed, pulled, squeezed, and muscled the unwieldy boats through the
ropes and over the telephone poles and walls of the notorious BUD/S
obstacle course. Out on the Pacific Ocean, the boat crews paddled their
boats through the powerful crashing waves, often capsizing and scattering
wet students and paddles across the beach like a storied shipwreck. These
damned rubber boats were the source of a great deal of misery for the men
assigned to them. Each boat had a roman numeral painted in bright yellow
on the front, indicating the boat crew number—all except the boat crew
made up of the shortest men in the class, known as the “Smurf crew.” They
had a bright blue Smurf painted on the bow of their boat.
In each boat crew the senior-ranking man served as boat crew leader,
responsible for receiving orders from the instructors and briefing, directing,
and leading the other six members of the boat crew. The boat crew leader
bore responsibility for the performance of his boat crew. And while each
member of the boat crew had to perform, the boat crew leader—by his very
position as leader—received the most scrutiny from the instructor staff.
During SEAL training (and really, throughout a SEAL’s career) every
evolution was a competition—a race, a fight, a contest. In BUD/S, this
point was driven home by the SEAL instructors, who constantly reminded
the students, “It pays to be a winner.” When racing as a boat crew during
Hell Week, the winning boat crew’s prize for victory was to sit out the next
race, earning a few brief minutes of respite from the grueling, nonstop
physical evolutions. They weren’t allowed to sleep, but just to sit down and
rest were especially precious commodities. While it paid to be a winner, this
rule had a corollary: it really sucked to be a loser. Second place, in the
instructor’s vernacular, was simply “the first loser.” But bad performance—
falling far behind the rest of the pack and coming in dead last—carried
especially grueling penalties: unwanted attention from the SEAL instructors
who dished out additional punishing exercises on top of the already
exhausting Hell Week evolutions. Meanwhile, the victorious boat crew
celebrated by sitting out the next race and, most important, not getting wet
and cold for a few brief minutes.
The SEAL instructor cadre kept the students moving with constant boat
crew races, giving detailed and intentionally complicated instructions to the
boat crew leaders, who in turn briefed their men and executed the
instructions as best they could in their exhausted state. The command went
out from the SEAL instructor with the megaphone: “Boat crew leaders
report!” The boat crew leaders left their boats and ran to take position,
forming a smart line in front of the SEAL instructor, who laid out the
specifics of the next race.
“Paddle your boats out through the surf zone, dump boat,1 paddle your
boats down to the next beach marker, then paddle them back into the beach,
run up and over the berm and around the beach marker, then head-carry
back to the rope station, then over the berm, and finish here,” commanded
the SEAL instructor. “Got it?”
The boat crew leaders raced back and briefed their boat crews. Then the
race began. In place of the traditional “Ready, set, go,” the SEAL command
to begin was “Stand by … bust ’em!” And they were off.
In every race, there were standout performers. Throughout this
particular Hell Week, one boat crew dominated the competition: Boat Crew
II. They won or nearly won every single race. They pushed themselves hard
every time, working in unison and operating as a team. Boat Crew II had a
strong leader, and each of the individual boat crew members seemed highly
motivated and performed well. They compensated for each other’s
weaknesses, helped each other, and took pride in winning, which had its
rewards. After each victory, Boat Crew II enjoyed a few precious minutes
of rest while the other boat crews toiled through the next race. Though Boat
Crew II was still cold and exhausted, I saw smiles on most of their faces.
They were performing exceptionally well; they were winning and morale
was high.
Meanwhile, Boat Crew VI was delivering a standout performance of a
different kind. They placed dead last in virtually every race, often lagging
far behind the rest of the class. Rather than working together as a team, the
men were operating as individuals, furious and frustrated at their
teammates. We heard them yelling and cursing at each other from some
distance, accusing the others of not doing their part. Each boat crew
member focused on his own individual pain and discomfort, and the boat
crew leader was no exception. He certainly recognized they were
underperforming, but likely, in his mind and that of his boat crew, no
amount of effort could change that. And their horrific performance was the
result.
“Boat Crew Six, you better start putting out!” blared a SEAL instructor
through his megaphone. Extra attention from the instructor staff had serious
consequences. Our SEAL instructors were all over Boat Crew VI, dishing
out punishment for their poor performance. As a result, the misery
multiplied tenfold for Boat Crew VI. They were forced to sprint back and
forth over the sand berm, down to the water to get wet and sandy, then bearcrawl on blistered hands and feet. Next they had to hold the boat at
“extended arm carry,” with their arms fully extended overhead supporting
the full weight of the IBS until their shoulders were completely smoked.
This punishment sapped every ounce of remaining strength from the
already weary and demoralized boat crew. The boat crew leader, a young
and inexperienced officer, was getting even more attention. As the leader,
he bore the responsibility for his boat crew’s poor performance. Yet he
seemed indifferent, as though fate had dealt him a poor hand: a team of
underperformers who, no matter how hard he tried, simply could not get the
job done.
I kept my eye on the leader of Boat Crew VI. If he did not show
substantial improvement in leadership ability, he would not graduate from
the program. SEAL officers were expected to perform like everyone else,
but more important, they were also expected to lead. So far, Boat Crew VI’s
leader was demonstrating performance that was subpar and unacceptable.
Our SEAL senior chief petty officer, the most experienced and highly
respected noncommissioned officer of the SEAL instructor cadre, took a
keen interest in Boat Crew VI and their lackluster leader.
“You had better take charge and square your boat away, Sir,” said Senior
Chief to the Boat Crew VI leader. Senior Chief was a goliath of a man, with
piercing eyes that instilled fear equally into terrorists on the battlefield and
students in training. An exceptional and revered leader himself, he had
mentored many young junior officers. Now, Senior Chief offered an
interesting solution to Boat Crew VI’s atrocious performance.
“Let’s swap out the boat crew leaders from the best and the worst crews
and see what happens,” said Senior Chief. All other controls would remain
the same—heavy and awkward boats, manned by the same exhausted
crews, cold water, gritty and chafing sand, wearied men competing in
challenging races. Only a single individual, the leader, would change.
Could it possibly make any difference? I wondered.
The plan was quickly relayed to the other SEAL instructors. “Boat crew
leaders from Boat Crews Two and Six report,” blared the SEAL instructor
through the megaphone. The two boat crew leaders ran over and stood at
attention. “You two will swap positions and take charge of the other’s boat
crew. Boat Crew Six leader, you’re now the leader of Boat Crew Two. Boat
Crew Two Leader, you’re now the leader of Boat Crew Six. Got it?” said
the SEAL instructor.
The boat crew leader from Boat Crew II was clearly not happy. I’m sure
he hated to leave the team he had built and knew well. No doubt he was
proud of their dominant performance. The new assignment to take charge of
a poorly performing boat crew would be difficult and could potentially
invite unwanted attention from the SEAL instructors. Still, he dared not try
to argue the point with the instructor. With no choice, he accepted the
challenging assignment with a look of determination.
Boat Crew VI’s leader was obviously elated. It was clear he felt that
only by the luck of the draw—and no fault of his own—had he been
assigned to the worst boat crew of underperformers. In his mind, no amount
of effort on his part could make Boat Crew VI better. Now, the SEAL
instructor directed him to take over Boat Crew II. His face revealed his
inner conviction that justice was finally being done and his new assignment
meant things would now be easy for him.
Having received the direction to swap places, each boat crew leader
went to his new position in the opposite boat crew and stood by for the next
race. As before, boat crew leaders were given instructions, and they in turn
briefed their teams.
“Stand by … bust ’em!” came the command. And they were off.
We watched the boat crews sprint over the berm carrying their boats,
then hurry down to the surf zone and into the dark water. They jumped into
their boats and paddled furiously. Passing through the crashing waves, they
dumped boat, got everyone back on board, and then paddled down the
beach. The headlights from our instructors’ vehicles caught the reflection of
the yellow bands painted around the boats’ rims. We could no longer see the
boat numbers. However, two boats were ahead of the pack, almost neck and
neck, with one vying for the lead. A half mile down the beach, as the
instructors’ trucks followed, the boat crews paddled back into shore. As the
boats came in on the headlights, the numbers were clearly visible. Boat
Crew VI was in the lead and maintained first place all the way across the
finish line, just ahead of Boat Crew II. Boat Crew VI had won the race.
A miraculous turnaround had taken place: Boat Crew VI had gone from
last place to first. The boat crew members had begun to work together as a
team, and won. Boat Crew II still performed well, though they narrowly lost
the race. They continued to challenge Boat Crew VI for the lead in the
follow-on races. And each of these boat crews outperformed all the rest,
with Boat Crew VI winning most of the races over the better part of the
next hour.
It was a shocking turn of events. Boat Crew VI, the same team in the
same circumstances only under new leadership, went from the worst boat
crew in the class to the best. Gone was their cursing and frustration. And
gone too was the constant scrutiny and individual attention they had
received from the SEAL instructor staff. Had I not witnessed this amazing
transformation, I might have doubted it. But it was a glaring, undeniable
example of one of the most fundamental and important truths at the heart of
Extreme Ownership: there are no bad teams, only bad leaders.
How is it possible that switching a single individual—only the leader—
had completely turned around the performance of an entire group? The
answer: leadership is the single greatest factor in any team’s performance.
Whether a team succeeds or fails is all up to the leader. The leader’s attitude
sets the tone for the entire team. The leader drives performance—or
doesn’t. And this applies not just to the most senior leader of an overall
team, but to the junior leaders of teams within the team.
* * *
I reflected back to my own experience as a boat crew leader in BUD/S
through the tribulations of Hell Week, where I had failed and should have
done better and where I had succeeded. My boat crew at times had
struggled to perform, until I figured out that I had to put myself in the most
difficult position at the front of the boat and lead. That required driving the
boat crew members hard, harder than they thought they could go. I
discovered that it was far more effective to focus their efforts not on the
days to come or the far-distant finish line they couldn’t yet see, but instead
on a physical goal immediately in front of them—the beach marker,
landmark, or road sign a hundred yards ahead. If we could execute with a
monumental effort just to reach an immediate goal that everyone could see,
we could then continue to the next visually attainable goal and then the
next. When pieced together, it meant our performance over time increased
substantially and eventually we crossed the finish line at the head of the
pack.
Looking back, I could have yelled a lot less and encouraged more. As a
boat crew leader, I protected my boat crew from the instructor staff as much
as I could. It was “us versus them,” as I saw it. In protecting my boat crew, I
actually sheltered a couple of perpetual underperformers who dragged the
rest of the boat crew down. When Hell Week was over, talking to some of
the other members of our boat crew, we realized we had carried along these
mentally weak performers. They almost certainly would not have met the
standards otherwise. That loyalty was misguided. If we wouldn’t want to
serve alongside our boat crew’s weakest performers once we were all
assigned to SEAL platoons in various SEAL Teams, we had no right to
force other SEALs to do so. The instructors were tasked with weeding out
those without the determination and will to meet the high standards of
performance. We had hindered that.
Ultimately, how my boat crew performed was entirely on me. The
concept that there were no bad teams, only bad leaders was a difficult one
to accept but nevertheless a crucial concept that leaders must fully
understand and implement to enable them to most effectively lead a highperformance team. Leaders must accept total responsibility, own problems
that inhibit performance, and develop solutions to those problems. A team
could only deliver exceptional performance if a leader ensured the team
worked together toward a focused goal and enforced high standards of
performance, working to continuously improve. With a culture of Extreme
Ownership within the team, every member of the team could contribute to
this effort and ensure the highest levels of performance.
* * *
Watching these events now unfold as a BUD/S instructor, I knew that as
difficult a challenge as Hell Week was for these students, it was only
training. These young boat crew leaders could not fully comprehend the
burden of leadership for which they would soon be responsible as SEAL
officers on the battlefield. As combat leaders, the pressure on them would
be immense, beyond their imagination.
Only months before this very Hell Week, I had been a SEAL platoon
commander in Ramadi, Iraq, leading combat missions into the most violent,
enemy-held areas of the city. We’d been in more firefights than I could
count, against a well-armed, experienced, and highly determined enemy.
Death lurked around the corner at any moment. Every decision I (and the
leaders within our platoon and task unit) made carried potentially mortal
consequences. We had delivered a huge impact on the battlefield, killed
hundreds of insurgents, and protected U.S. Soldiers and Marines. I was
proud of those triumphs. But we had also suffered immense tragedy with
the loss of the first Navy SEAL killed in combat in Iraq, Marc Lee. Marc
was an incredible teammate, an exceptional SEAL warrior with an amazing
sense of humor that kept us laughing through the darkest of times. He was
shot and killed in the midst of a furious firefight in one of the largest single
battles fought by U.S. forces in South-Central Ramadi. Marc was my friend
and brother. I was his commander, ultimately responsible for his life. Yet I
had received only a minor gunshot wound that day, while Marc was struck
and killed instantly. I had come home and he had not. This was devastating
beyond measure.
I grieved too for Mike Monsoor, from Task Unit Bruiser’s Delta
Platoon, who, while not a member of my platoon, was also a friend and
brother. Mike had jumped on a grenade to save three of his teammates.
Mike was loved and respected by all who knew him. Like Marc, we deeply
mourned his loss.
On the same day Marc Lee had been killed, another beloved SEAL from
Charlie Platoon, Ryan Job, had been shot in the face by an enemy sniper. He
was gravely wounded and we weren’t sure he would live. Yet Ryan, tough
as nails, had survived, although his wound left him permanently blind. Still,
Ryan’s drive and determination were unstoppable. He married the girl of his
dreams and, after medically retiring from the Navy, enrolled in a college
program and earned a business degree, graduating with a 4.0 GPA. Despite
being blind, Ryan successfully reached the 14,410-foot summit of Mount
Rainier and personally bagged a trophy bull elk (using a rifle fitted with a
specially designed scope with a camera for a spotter).2 Ryan was an
exceptional SEAL, a wonderful teammate and a friend who inspired all who
knew him. Though he had as much right as anyone to be bitter about the
hand life dealt him, he was not. We laughed continuously every time we got
together. Ryan and his wife were expecting their first child, and he could
hardly contain his excitement. But just when I thought that the men of
Charlie Platoon and Task Unit Bruiser and their families who had suffered
and endured so much were safe from the specter of death, Ryan Job died in
recovery from a surgery to repair his combat wounds—wounds he had
received under my charge. No words can fully describe the hammer blow
that this news dealt—agony beyond comprehension.
As their platoon commander, the loss of Marc and Ryan were a crushing
burden that I would bear for the rest of my days. I knew that Mike’s platoon
commander in Delta Platoon felt the same way. And, as commander of Task
Unit Bruiser, Jocko carried this burden for all. And yet as difficult as this
was for me, I knew I could not ever fully understand how devastating the
loss of these fine men was to their families and closest friends. In the
months and years ahead, it was my duty to help them and support them as
best I could.
* * *
As I stood watching these young boat crew leaders—not yet SEALs—I
knew they could not possibly grasp the responsibilities in store for them as
future SEAL officers and combat leaders. Sure, BUD/S training was tough.
Hell Week was a kick in the nuts. But nobody was striving to kill them.
Decisions in training here weren’t life or death. Boat Crew races did not
lead to memorial services. There was no pressure that wrong decisions
might spark an international incident, which could instantly make the
evening news or front-page newspaper headlines, with negative
repercussions on the entire war effort, just as it had been for us in Iraq.
When these inexperienced soon-to-be SEAL officers graduated from
BUD/S, I put them through our five-week-long Junior Officer Training
Course, a program focused on their leadership development. I did my
utmost to pass onto them everything I wish someone had taught me prior to
leading in combat. In the final weeks of each course, we ran the Marc Lee
and Mike Monsoor Memorial Run, a five-mile, uphill course that climbed
to the top of the huge cliffs of Point Loma and finished at Fort Rosecrans
National Cemetery, where both Marc and Mike are buried. In that serene
setting overlooking the Pacific Ocean, most fitting for these two noble
warriors, I gathered the class of junior officers around the headstones and
told them about Marc and Mike. To me, it was deeply important to tell their
stories so that the legacies of Marc Lee and Mike Monsoor could carry on.
It also served as a stark realization to these future SEAL combat leaders of
just how immense their responsibilities were and how deadly serious the
burden of command.
As they went forth to serve as officers and leaders in SEAL platoons
and beyond, all responsibility and accountability rested on their shoulders.
If their platoons underperformed, it was up to them to solve problems,
overcome obstacles and get the team working together to accomplish the
mission. Ultimately, they must fully accept that there truly are no bad
teams, only bad leaders.
PRINCIPLE
About Face: The Odyssey of an American Warrior, by Colonel David
Hackworth, U.S. Army (Retired) influenced many frontline leaders in the
SEAL Teams and throughout the military. The lengthy memoir details
Colonel Hackworth’s military career, combat experiences in Korea and
Vietnam, and his myriad of leadership lessons learned. Although a
controversial figure later in life, Hackworth was an exceptional and highly
respected battlefield leader. In the book, Hackworth relates the philosophy
of his U.S. Army mentors who fought and defeated the Germans and
Japanese in World War II: “There are no bad units, only bad officers.”3 This
captures the essence of what Extreme Ownership is all about. This is a
difficult and humbling concept for any leader to accept. But it is an essential
mind-set to building a high-performance, winning team.
When leaders who epitomize Extreme Ownership drive their teams to
achieve a higher standard of performance, they must recognize that when it
comes to standards, as a leader, it’s not what you preach, it’s what you
tolerate. When setting expectations, no matter what has been said or
written, if substandard performance is accepted and no one is held
accountable—if there are no consequences—that poor performance
becomes the new standard. Therefore, leaders must enforce standards.
Consequences for failing need not be immediately severe, but leaders must
ensure that tasks are repeated until the higher expected standard is achieved.
Leaders must push the standards in a way that encourages and enables the
team to utilize Extreme Ownership.
The leader must pull the different elements within the team together to
support one another, with all focused exclusively on how to best accomplish
the mission. One lesson from the BUD/S boat crew leader example above is
that most people, like Boat Crew VI, want to be part of a winning team. Yet,
they often don’t know how, or simply need motivation and encouragement.
Teams need a forcing function to get the different members working
together to accomplish the mission and that is what leadership is all about.
Once a culture of Extreme Ownership is built into the team at every
level, the entire team performs well, and performance continues to improve,
even when a strong leader is temporarily removed from the team. On the
battlefield, preparation for potential casualties plays a critical role in a
team’s success, if a key leader should go down. But life can throw any
number of circumstances in the way of any business or team, and every
team must have junior leaders ready to step up and temporarily take on the
roles and responsibilities of their immediate bosses to carry on the team’s
mission and get the job done if and when the need arises.
Leaders should never be satisfied. They must always strive to improve,
and they must build that mind-set into the team. They must face the facts
through a realistic, brutally honest assessment of themselves and their
team’s performance. Identifying weaknesses, good leaders seek to
strengthen them and come up with a plan to overcome challenges. The best
teams anywhere, like the SEAL Teams, are constantly looking to improve,
add capability, and push the standards higher. It starts with the individual
and spreads to each of the team members until this becomes the culture, the
new standard. The recognition that there are no bad teams, only bad leaders
facilitates Extreme Ownership and enables leaders to build highperformance teams that dominate on any battlefield, literal or figurative.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
“I love this concept of Extreme Ownership,” the CEO said. “We could
really use some at my company. We have a fairly solid team, but I have
some key leaders that lack Extreme Ownership. I’d like to bring you in to
work with us.”
The CEO and founder of a financial services company had observed a
presentation I gave to a group of senior corporate executives. Intrigued by
the concept of Extreme Ownership, he had approached me afterward to
engage in conversation.
“Happy to help,” I replied.
To better understand the dynamics of his team and the particular
challenges of his company and industry, I spent some time with the CEO in
discussions via phone, visited his company offices, and met with his
leadership team. I then conducted a leadership program for the company’s
department heads and key leaders.
The CEO opened the program and introduced me to those in the room,
explaining why he had invested in this training.
“We aren’t winning,” the CEO stated plainly. A new product rollout the
company had recently launched had not gone well, and the company’s
books were in the red. Now the company stood at a pivotal junction. “We
need to take on these concepts like Extreme Ownership, which Leif is going
to talk to you about today, so that we can get back on track and win.” The
CEO then left the room all to me, his senior managers, and department
heads.
After presenting some background on my combat experience and how
the principle of Extreme Ownership was critical to the success of any team,
I engaged the department heads and managers in discussion.
“How can you apply Extreme Ownership to your teams to succeed and
help your company win?” I asked.
One of the company’s key department leaders, the chief technology
officer (CTO), who built the company’s signature products, exhibited a
defensive demeanor. He was not a fan of Extreme Ownership. I quickly
recognized why. Since the new product line had been his baby, taking
ownership of the disastrous rollout was humbling and difficult. The CTO
was full of excuses for why his team had failed and for the resulting
damage to the company’s bottom line. He shamelessly blamed the failed
new-product rollout on a challenging market, an industry in flux,
inexperienced personnel within his team, poor communication with the
sales force, and lackluster customer service. He also blamed the company’s
senior executive team. The CTO refused to take ownership of mistakes or
acknowledge that his team could perform better, though the CEO had made
it clear they must all improve or the company might fold.
I told the BUD/S boat crew leader story to the group, how Boat Crew VI
turned their performance around under new leadership, and I outlined the
concept that there are no bad teams, only bad leaders.
“During my own training and performance in BUD/S as a boat crew
leader,” I told them, “I can remember many times when my boat crew
struggled. It was easy to make excuses for our team’s performance and why
it wasn’t what it should have been. But I learned that good leaders don’t
make excuses. Instead, they figure out a way to get it done and win.”
“What was the difference between the two leaders in the boat crew
leader example?” asked one of the managers, in charge of a critical team
within the company.
“When Boat Crew Six was failing under their original leader,” I
answered, “that leader didn’t seem to think it was possible for them to
perform any better, and he certainly didn’t think they could win. This
negative attitude infected his entire boat crew. As is common in teams that
are struggling, the original leader of Boat Crew Six almost certainly
justified his team’s poor performance with any number of excuses. In his
mind, the other boat crews were outperforming his own only because those
leaders had been lucky enough to be assigned better crews. His attitude
reflected victimization: life dealt him and his boat crew members a
disadvantage, which justified poor performance. As a result, his attitude
prevented his team from looking inwardly at themselves and where they
could improve. Finally, the leader and each member of Boat Crew Six
focused not on the mission but on themselves, their own exhaustion, misery,
and individual pain and suffering. Though the instructors demanded that
they do better, Boat Crew Six had become comfortable with substandard
performance. Working under poor leadership and an unending cycle of
blame, the team constantly failed. No one took ownership, assumed
responsibility, or adopted a winning attitude.”
“What did the new boat crew leader do differently?” asked another of
the department heads.
“When the leader of Boat Crew Two took charge of Boat Crew Six, he
exhibited Extreme Ownership to the fullest,” I explained. “He faced the
facts: he recognized and accepted that Boat Crew Six’s performance was
terrible, that they were losing and had to get better. He didn’t blame anyone,
nor did he make excuses to justify poor performance. He didn’t wait for
others to solve his boat crew’s problems. His realistic assessment,
acknowledgment of failure, and ownership of the problem were key to
developing a plan to improve performance and ultimately win. Most
important of all, he believed winning was possible. In a boat crew where
winning seemed so far beyond reach, the belief that the team actually could
improve and win was essential.”
I continued: “The new leader of Boat Crew Six focused his team on the
mission. Rather than tolerate their bickering and infighting, he pulled the
team together and focused their collective efforts on the single specific goal
of winning the race. He established a new and higher standard of
performance and accepted nothing less from the men in his boat crew.”
“Why do you think Boat Crew Two, which had lost its strong leader,
continued to perform well, even with the far less capable leader from Boat
Crew Six?” asked another department leader.
“Extreme Ownership—good leadership—is contagious,” I answered.
“Boat Crew Two’s original leader had instilled a culture of Extreme
Ownership, of winning and how to win, in every individual. Boat Crew
Two had developed into a solid team of high-performing individuals. Each
member demanded the highest performance from the others. Repetitive
exceptional performance became a habit. Each individual knew what they
needed to do to win and did it. They no longer needed explicit direction
from a leader. As a result, Boat Crew Two continued to outperform virtually
every other boat crew and vied with Boat Crew Six for first place in nearly
every race.”
I detailed how the original leader of Boat Crew VI joined Boat Crew II
thinking life would be easy for him. Instead, he had to seriously step up his
game to keep up with such a high-performance team. For him, the greatest
lesson of that day was learned: he witnessed a complete turnaround in the
performance of his former team as he watched a new leader demonstrate
that what seemed impossible was achievable through good leadership.
Though he had failed to lead effectively to that point, the original leader of
Boat Crew VI learned and implemented that humbling lesson. Ultimately,
he graduated from BUD/S training and had a successful career in the SEAL
Teams.
“In summary,” I told them, “whether or not your team succeeds or fails
is all on you. Extreme Ownership is a concept to help you make the right
decisions as a key leader so that you can win.”
The chief technology officer bristled. “We are making the right
decisions,” he said. He was serious.
Surprised at his statement, I responded, “You’ve all admitted that as a
company you aren’t winning.”
“We may not be winning,” said the CTO resolutely, “but we’re making
the right decisions.”
“If you aren’t winning,” I responded, “then you aren’t making the right
decisions.” The CTO was so sure he was right, so content to make excuses
and shift blame for his own mistakes and failures, that he made ludicrous
claims to avoid taking any ownership or responsibility.
Just like the original boat crew leader in Boat Crew VI, this CTO
exhibited the opposite of Extreme Ownership. He took no meaningful
action to improve his performance or push his team to improve. Worse, he
refused to admit that his own performance was subpar and that he and his
team could do better. His CEO had stated plainly that the company’s
performance must improve substantially. But the CTO was stuck in a cycle
of blaming others and refused to take ownership or responsibility. He had
become what a good friend from my own BUD/S class and SEAL
qualification training dubbed the “Tortured Genius.” By this, he did not
mean the artist or musician who suffers from mental health issues, but in the
context of ownership. No matter how obvious his or her failing, or how
valid the criticism, a Tortured Genius, in this sense, accepts zero
responsibility for mistakes, makes excuses, and blames everyone else for
their failings (and those of their team). In their mind, the rest of the world
just can’t see or appreciate the genius in what they are doing. An individual
with a Tortured Genius mind-set can have catastrophic impact on a team’s
performance.
After lengthy discussion with the department heads and managers, many
of them came to understand and appreciate Extreme Ownership. But not the
CTO. After the workshop concluded, I met with the company’s CEO to
debrief.
“How did things go?” he asked.
“The workshop went well. Most of your department heads and key
leaders took on board this concept of Extreme Ownership,” I replied. “You
have one major issue, though.”
“Let me guess,” replied the CEO. “My chief technology officer.”
“Affirmative,” I responded. “He resisted the concept of Extreme
Ownership at every turn.” I had seen this before, both in the SEAL Teams
and with other client companies. In any group, there was always a small
number of people who wanted to shirk responsibility. But this CTO was a
particularly serious case.
“Your CTO might be one of the worst ‘Tortured Geniuses’ I have seen,”
I said.
The CEO acknowledged that his CTO was a problem, that he was
difficult to work with and other department leaders in the company had
major issues with him. But the CEO felt that because the CTO’s experience
level and knowledge were critical to the company, he couldn’t possibly fire
him. It also seemed the CTO felt he was above reproach.
“I can’t tell you to fire anyone,” I responded. “Those are decisions only
you can make. But what I can tell you is this: when it comes to performance
standards, It’s not what you preach, it’s what you tolerate. You have to drive
your CTO to exercise Extreme Ownership—to acknowledge mistakes, stop
blaming others, and lead his team to success. If you allow the status quo to
persist, you can’t expect to improve performance, and you can’t expect to
win.”
A week later, I followed up with a phone call to the CEO to see how his
team was doing.
“Some folks are really embracing this concept of Extreme Ownership,”
he said enthusiastically. “But the chief technology officer continues to be a
problem.” The CEO related how, upon my departure, the CTO had barged
into his office and warned that the concept of Extreme Ownership had
“negative repercussions.” This was laughable.
“There are no negative repercussions to Extreme Ownership,” I said.
“There are only two types of leaders: effective and ineffective. Effective
leaders that lead successful, high-performance teams exhibit Extreme
Ownership. Anything else is simply ineffective. Anything else is bad
leadership.”
The CTO’s performance and the performance of his team illustrated this
in Technicolor. His abrasiveness affected his entire team and other
departments in the company that had difficulty working with him. The CEO
understood. His company wasn’t winning, and he cared too much about the
company he had built and the livelihood of his other employees to allow the
company to fail. They must do better.
He let the CTO go.
A new CTO came on board with a different attitude—a mind-set of
Extreme Ownership.
With this change in the leadership of the company’s technology team,
other departments began to work together with success, and that teamwork
played a key role as the company rebounded. Once failing and struggling to
survive, the company was now back on a path toward profitability and
growth. Their success illustrated once again that leadership is the most
important thing on any battlefield; it is the single greatest factor in whether
a team succeeds or fails. A leader must find a way to become effective and
drive high performance within his or her team in order to win. Whether in
SEAL training, in combat on distant battlefields, in business, or in life:
there are no bad teams, only bad leaders.
Iraqi soldiers help a wounded comrade away from danger during a firefight in the Ma’laab District of
Ramadi on a joint operation with U.S. Soldiers, Marines, and SEALs of Task Unit Bruiser.
(Photo courtesy of Michael Fumento)
CHAPTER 3
Believe
Jocko Willink
SHARKBASE, CAMP RAMADI, IRAQ: QUESTIONING THE MISSION
This makes no sense, no sense at all, I thought as I read through the mission
statement from higher command. We were to execute missions “by, with,
and through Iraqi security forces.” Unlike my first deployment to Iraq
where SEALs worked almost exclusively with our own SEAL Team and
other U.S. or NATO special operations units, my SEAL task unit had now
been directed to work with conventional forces. But not just any
conventional forces—Iraqi conventional forces.
The SEALs in Task Unit Bruiser were like a professional sports team,
exceptionally well trained to perform at the highest level. We knew each
other so well that we could anticipate each other’s thoughts and moves. We
could recognize each other’s silhouettes on patrol in the darkness. This was
the result of years of training, not only in BUD/S, the basic SEAL training
course from which we all had graduated, but in the year-long training cycle
that the entire task unit had gone through together. That workup consisted
of training and practicing as a team: in desert, urban and maritime
environments in vehicles, boats, planes, helicopters, and on foot. We had
fired thousands of rounds through our vast arsenal of weapons, until we
could do so with the highest degree of accuracy while under substantial
pressure. We had trained for hundreds of hours, iteration after iteration, drill
after drill, until we could operate not just as a group of individuals, but as a
team—a synchronized machine, maneuvering with precision and efficiency
through the challenges of chaotic battlefields.
As SEALs, we kept ourselves in peak physical condition so that we
could execute tough missions and meet the extreme physical demands of
combat. We did hundreds of pull-ups and push-ups, ran for miles, lifted
heavy weights, swam long distances in the open ocean—all to prepare for
combat. During our training cycle, in the precious few hours we didn’t have
a scheduled training evolution, we were in the gym physically pushing
ourselves through punishing, high-intensity workouts. If there was no gym
at our training location, we’d be out on the road for a hard run, in the
parking lot dragging or flipping heavy tires, or on the mats in fierce
grappling and jiu-jitsu contests—whatever we could do to stay strong and
conditioned. Each man was expected to maintain that high level of physical
conditioning so that he could pull his weight and never falter on an
operation. We had to be ready to carry a wounded comrade in full, heavy
combat gear to safety across rugged terrain. As a critical part of our culture,
we constantly challenged each other to tests of physical strength.
We also had some of the best gear in the world: encrypted radios, nightvision goggles, infrared lasers, lights and markers, uniform Kevlar vests and
helmets. In the hands of operators who knew how to use this gear, the
tactical advantage over the enemy was huge.
* * *
Now I was being told that Task Unit Bruiser—my friends, my brothers,
these highly trained and motivated men—would have to fight alongside
conventional Iraqi Army soldiers, arguably some of the worst combat
troops in the world. Most Iraqi soldiers were poor, uneducated, untrained,
undernourished, and unmotivated. With dire economic conditions across
Iraq, many simply joined for a paycheck. When the going got tough, they
often deserted (as we later witnessed).
All of the soldiers had, to their credit, risked their lives to be part of the
Iraqi Army. Often their families were targeted by terrorists, their lives
threatened while the soldier deployed to fight in a distant Iraqi city. Of
course, there were some better soldiers among them. But the competent and
capable Iraqi soldier was the rare exception, not the rule. The vast majority
of soldiers in the Iraqi Army, as fighting men, were far below the standard
expected of any military, and certainly far below what was needed to take
on and defeat Iraq’s growing insurgency.
Back in 2003, the U.S.-led Coalition Provisional Authority disbanded
Saddam Hussein’s Iraqi Army completely. It then had to be rebuilt from the
ground up. The new Iraqi Army’s training was disorganized, ad hoc, and
scattered, at best. Some Iraqi soldiers had almost no training. Officers often
bribed or bought their way into their rank. Young enlisted Iraqi soldiers’
primary goal was survival, not victory. Physically, they were weak. Most
Iraqi soldiers were incapable of doing even a few push-ups or jumping
jacks. Tactically, they were dangerous and unsound, regularly violating
basic safety procedures.
Worse, some of the Iraqi soldiers had questionable loyalty to the
coalition and to the new government of Iraq. Some Sunni soldiers remained
loyal to Saddam. But most Iraqi soldiers were Shiites, and many of these
saw Muqtada al-Sadr, the fiery cleric hostile to Americans and closely
allied with Iran, as a national hero. Every so often, reports surfaced of Iraqi
soldiers who turned their weapons on their U.S. Army or Marine Corps
advisors. With that knowledge, how could trust be built?
In addition to poor training, the Iraqi soldiers were barely equipped for a
camping trip, much less combat operations. Some wore sneakers or sandals.
Their uniforms were a mix-and-match collection of military clothing in
American, Soviet, or Middle Eastern camouflage. The variety of clothing
made it hard to distinguish friend from foe—especially in an environment
where the enemy also wore paramilitary uniforms and gear.
Iraqi soldiers’ web gear (or load-bearing equipment) consisted of
tattered canvas Soviet-era chest rigs with AK-47 magazine pouches that
often fell apart. The weapons they carried were a mix of rifles confiscated
from insurgents, many of them poorly made Iraqi or Chinese copies of the
AK-47. Most were in poor shape and far below the standards of the original
Russian design. It was not uncommon to find the weapons rusted to the
point that the sites could not be adjusted. Their technology generally
stopped at their weapon. They had no night-vision goggles, no lasers, no
radios. In fact, very few even had a simple flashlight. Their body armor was
ancient with questionable effectiveness.
* * *
Task Unit Bruiser was charged with getting our Iraqi soldiers equipped,
organized, and, most important, trained and ready to fight the insurgents
who seemed to be increasingly effective against U.S. military forces. In
less-hostile areas of Iraq, this meant building training programs on secure
bases and running Iraqi soldiers through basic soldiering skills and finally
some advanced infantry tactics before taking them out on patrol in enemy
territory.
But this was Ramadi, the epicenter of the insurgency and the decisive
battle for Anbar Province. There was fighting to be done, outposts to
protect, and enemy fighters to capture and kill. To pull Iraqi soldiers from
the battlefield for training beyond a day or two was simply impossible.
Our mission as SEALs was to go into hostile territory with these ragtag
Iraqi soldiers and fight against hardcore insurgent mujahideen fighters
determined to kill as many of us as they could. Now, SEALs are known to
run to the sound of the guns. But running to the sound of guns is much
easier when a SEAL is surrounded by other SEALs; when we know the
man covering our “six” (or backside) is someone who has been through the
same training, has the same gear, and speaks the same language—someone
we trust. For a SEAL to put his life in the hands of someone he doesn’t
know—a person he has barely worked with, who is not well trained,
undisciplined, speaks a different language, and whose trustworthiness is
doubtful—is asking a hell of a lot. In the SEAL Teams, the bond of our
brotherhood is our strongest weapon. If you take that away from us, we lose
our most important quality as a team.
When our SEALs in Task Unit Bruiser learned that they would be
allowed to conduct combat operations only alongside Iraqi soldiers, they
were livid and completely against the idea. We knew that the dangers in
Ramadi from the enemy were already extremely high. There was no need to
increase the risk to our force. Yet that is exactly what we were being
directed to do.
Even my initial reaction was Hell no. It just wasn’t worth the risk. Why
would we go into combat without every possible advantage, much less a
self-inflicted distinct disadvantage? I didn’t believe that this mission made
sense. I didn’t believe it was smart. I didn’t believe it would be successful.
To imagine a firefight alongside Iraqi soldiers with such inferior training
and questionable loyalty seemed outrageous, perhaps even suicidal. But as
Task Unit Bruiser’s commander, I knew my actions and mind-set carried
great weight among my troops. These were my orders, and for me to lead, I
had to believe. So I kept my doubts to myself as I asked the simple
question: Why?
Why would the U.S. military leadership on the ground in Iraq and back
in America—from Baghdad to the Pentagon to the White House—task
Navy SEALs, other Special Operations, and U.S. Army and Marine Corps
units with such a high-risk mission? I had seen how difficult combat could
be with the best people by my side. Why make it harder?
I knew I had to adjust my perspective, to mentally step back from the
immediate fight just outside the wire and think about this question from a
strategic level, as if I were one of those generals in Baghdad or back at the
Pentagon. Sure, they were far from the front lines, but certainly, they had
the same goal we did: to win.
That led to another question: What was winning? It certainly wasn’t
winning in the traditional military sense of the word. There would be no
surrender from this enemy we fought against. There would be no peace
treaty signed. Winning here meant only that Iraq would become a relatively
secure and stable country.
So I asked myself: How can we prepare the Iraqi soldiers to handle
security in their own country? They needed to start somewhere. If there
wasn’t time to train Iraqi soldiers off the battlefield in a secure environment
on base, then they would have to learn by doing, through OJT (on the job
training). If the Iraqis never reached a level of skill at which they could
defend their country from terrorist insurgents, then who would defend it?
The answer was all too clear: us, the U.S. military. We would be stuck here
securing their country for them for generations.
The disparity between the capability of the poorly trained, ill-equipped,
and unmotivated Iraqi soldiers and that of the determined, well-equipped,
and highly effective insurgent fighters they were up against was gigantic.
Virtually every time an American outpost in Ramadi was handed over to the
control of Iraqi soldiers, insurgents attacked and overran their position,
killing dozens of Iraqi troops and sometimes the U.S. Marine or Army
advisors assigned to them. The Iraqi soldiers were no match for the
insurgents. It would take generations of training to get the Iraqi soldiers to
the level needed to overcome and defeat such an aggressive enemy. Even
then, such lackluster soldiers would likely never be capable of fighting and
defeating a serious adversary. For those of us on the front lines of this
conflict, it was clear that there were many senior U.S. military officers who,
far removed from direct interaction with Iraqi soldiers, did not understand
the Iraqi Army’s true lack of capability. They were simply terrible, and no
amount of training would make them excellent soldiers; but perhaps we
could make them good enough.
As I thought about this, I realized that there was something that we—
Task Unit Bruiser and other U.S. and coalition forces—could do. These
Iraqi troops, or jundhis,1 as they called themselves in Arabic, may never be
good enough to take on a well-equipped and determined enemy. But they
could be good enough to handle a less substantial enemy. We could ensure
the current enemy fit into that category by reducing the insurgents’ ability
to wage war. In addition to building the Iraqi Army’s capability through
training and combat-advising on the battlefield, we (our SEALs and U.S.
forces) would have to crush the insurgency and lower its capability to a
point where Iraqi soldiers and police would at least have a chance to
maintain a relative peace by themselves—a chance to win. In order to do
that, our Task Unit Bruiser SEALs needed to get outside the wire, onto the
battlefield, and inflict serious damage on insurgent fighters. But we couldn’t
operate unless our combat missions received approval through our chain of
command. The SEAL task unit that had been in Ramadi for the months
prior to our arrival had told us they planned a number of combat operations
that consisted of only SEALs—without Iraqi soldiers. Almost all of those
operations had been denied approval. In order to receive that approval, I
knew we must take Iraqi soldiers with us on every operation. They were our
ticket to leave the base, push into enemy territory, and unleash fury upon
the insurgents.
With that, I understood, and I believed. Now, I had to ensure that my
troops understood and believed.
I called for a meeting and pulled all the SEAL operators from Task Unit
Bruiser together into the briefing room.
“Alright fellas,” I said. “You’ve heard the rumors. Every operation we
conduct will include Iraqi soldiers.” There were mutterings of obscenities
and loud exhales of disgust. I repeated: “Every mission we undertake we
will fight alongside jundhis.” The room cut loose again, this time with
louder disagreement and curses. The consensus from our SEALs, the
frontline troops who would execute our missions, was clear: “This is
garbage.”
I cut the not-so-subtle protest short: “I understand. The battlefield here
in Ramadi is dangerous. It’s difficult. Why make it even harder by forcing
us to fight alongside Iraqi soldiers?” Damn right, nodded much of the room
in agreement.
“Well, let me ask you something,” I continued. “If the Iraqi military
can’t get to a point where they can handle security in their own country,
who is going to do it?”
The room fell silent. I drove the point home by restating the question: “I
say again, if the Iraqi military can’t handle the security in this country, who
is going to do it?” I had their attention, and they knew the answer. But to
ensure everyone clearly understood the strategic importance of why we
were being directed to do this, I made it perfectly clear: “If Iraqi soldiers
can’t do it, there is only one group that will—us. If we don’t get these guys
up to speed we will have this mission next year and the year after and the
year after. The U.S. military will be stuck here for generations. It will be up
to our sons and our sons’ sons to secure Iraq.”
I could see that, although there was still resistance to the idea of
working with Iraqi soldiers, they were beginning to see this mission from a
strategic perspective.
I continued: “Like you, I understand that no matter how much we train
them, the Iraqi Army will never come close to achieving the standards we
set for ourselves. But we will help them get better. And there is something
else we can do to help them. We will close with and destroy the enemy on
the streets of Ramadi to reduce the insurgents’ military capability and lower
the level of violence. When the enemy is beaten, then the Iraqi Army can
take over security duties for themselves.”
I saw some heads nod in agreement.
“But to do that,” I said, “we have to get each mission—each operation
—approved. And if we want our missions approved, we must have Iraqi
soldiers with us on every operation. Does anyone not understand this?”
The room was quiet. Everyone understood. They didn’t have to jump for
joy at the thought of fighting alongside Iraqi soldiers on a dangerous
battlefield. But they did have to understand why they were doing it so that
they could believe in the mission.
Afterward, I spoke to my key leaders in greater detail about why this
mission was important. Unlike the previous SEAL task unit, I told my
officers and chiefs they were not to submit any concept of operations
(CONOPS)—a document that lays out the basic idea of an operation for
approval by higher headquarters—without Iraqi soldiers as part of our
force.
“What about all the unilateral2 operations you did on your last
deployment?” Leif asked me. “Didn’t they make a difference?” The other
platoon commander and both platoon chiefs waited for my response.
“Yes. We did a whole lot of unilateral DAs3 in Iraq two years ago,” I
answered. “And since that time, coalition forces across Iraq have continued
to do them. But, here are the facts: in the last two years, enemy attacks are
up three hundred percent. Three hundred percent! This place is on a
downward spiral. We’ve got to do something different if we want to win.”
“Every one of your operations will have Iraqi soldiers,” I told them.
“These Iraqi soldiers are our means to do something different—our ticket to
operate. We will get them up to speed. We will prepare them the best we
can. We will fight alongside them. And we will crush the enemy until even
the Iraqi Army will be able to fight them on their own. Any other
questions?”
There were no more questions. The most important question had been
answered: Why? Once I analyzed the mission and understood for myself
that critical piece of information, I could then believe in the mission. If I
didn’t believe in it, there was no way I could possibly convince the SEALs
in my task unit to believe in it. If I expressed doubts or openly questioned
the wisdom of this plan in front of the troops, their derision toward the
mission would increase exponentially. They would never believe in it. As a
result, they would never commit to it, and it would fail. But once I
understood and believed, I then passed that understanding and belief on,
clearly and succinctly, to my troops so that they believed in it themselves.
When they understood why, they would commit to the mission, persevere
through the inevitable challenges in store, and accomplish the task set
before us.
Most of the operators accepted my explanation. Not every member of
Task Unit Bruiser was convinced immediately. We had to reinforce the
importance of combat-advising Iraqi soldiers continuously.
Through the course of the deployment, our SEALs conducted every
major operation with Iraqi soldiers. Often the Iraqi soldiers did things that
were stupid and dangerous. On one combat operation, an Iraqi soldier
accidentally squeezed the trigger of his AK-47 rifle and blasted a dozen
rounds of fully automatic fire into the floor next to the SEAL operators
standing near him. The bullets missed some of our SEALs by inches. On
another operation, Leif and his SEAL combat advisors had to rip the rifles
out of the hands of Iraqi soldiers who, while under fire, ran from the enemy
contact while shooting their AK-47s backward over their heads, with other
SEALs and Iraqi soldiers downrange from them—incredibly foolish.
Another time, Iraqi soldiers on patrol with our SEALs were engaged by
enemy fighters. An Iraqi soldier was hit, and his comrades abandoned him
in the street and ran for cover. Two SEALs had to run through a hailstorm
of enemy fire across an open street (what we called a “Medal of Honor”
run) to retrieve the wounded Iraqi soldier and drag him to cover while
bullets impacted all around them.
The Iraqi soldiers frustrated the hell out of our SEALs who trained and
fought alongside them. But they also proved useful in ways we hadn’t
anticipated. A SEAL breacher might use a sledgehammer or explosive
charge to open a gate—an effective method, though extremely loud—which
let everyone in the neighborhood know we were there. Our Iraqi soldiers
knew how the doors and gates were secured and would quietly pop them
open by hand with little effort. They also could tell the bad guys from the
good. To our American eyes, when unarmed enemy fighters were hiding
among the civilian populace, we often couldn’t tell the difference. But our
Iraqi soldiers could discern dress, mannerisms, and Arabic accents that
were different from that of the local populace. Their local and cultural
knowledge were advantageous in helping us better understand and identify
the enemy.
Over the next six months, we took Iraqi soldiers right into the thick of
some of the biggest battles for the city of Ar Ramadi. Several of them were
killed in action. Others were wounded. Despite the grumblings from Task
Unit Bruiser, a certain base level of camaraderie formed between our
SEALs and their Iraqi counterparts through the blood, sweat, and tears of
difficult combat operations.
Through the success of the U.S. Army 1st Armored Division Ready
First Brigade Combat Team’s Seize, Clear, Hold, Build strategy, enemy
fighters were forced out of their former safe havens within Ramadi.
Because we included Iraqi soldiers with us on every operation, our chain of
command approved all of our plans to push deep into dangerous enemy
territory in support of this strategy. That enabled us to hammer enemy
fighters with deadly effect, making those areas a little safer for the U.S.
Soldiers and Marines that built the permanent combat outposts and lived
and patrolled out of them, forcing the insurgents out of their former
strongholds. As a result, the local people ceased passive support of the
insurgents and instead switched sides to support U.S. and Iraqi forces. Over
time, the level of violence decreased dramatically, as did the insurgents’
military capability. By the end of our deployment, the area was secure
enough to enable our Iraqi Army units to begin operations under their own
command and control: patrolling into the city, engaging the enemy, and
capturing or killing insurgents. That portion of the mission was a success by
any measure.
PRINCIPLE
In order to convince and inspire others to follow and accomplish a mission,
a leader must be a true believer in the mission. Even when others doubt and
question the amount of risk, asking, “Is it worth it?” the leader must believe
in the greater cause. If a leader does not believe, he or she will not take the
risks required to overcome the inevitable challenges necessary to win. And
they will not be able to convince others—especially the frontline troops
who must execute the mission—to do so. Leaders must always operate with
the understanding that they are part of something greater than themselves
and their own personal interests. They must impart this understanding to
their teams down to the tactical-level operators on the ground. Far more
important than training or equipment, a resolute belief in the mission is
critical for any team or organization to win and achieve big results.
In many cases, the leader must align his thoughts and vision to that of
the mission. Once a leader believes in the mission, that belief shines
through to those below and above in the chain of command. Actions and
words reflect belief with a clear confidence and self-assuredness that is not
possible when belief is in doubt.
The challenge comes when that alignment isn’t explicitly clear. When a
leader’s confidence breaks, those who are supposed to follow him or her see
this and begin to question their own belief in the mission.
Every leader must be able to detach from the immediate tactical mission
and understand how it fits into strategic goals. When leaders receive an
order that they themselves question and do not understand, they must ask
the question: why? Why are we being asked to do this? Those leaders must
take a step back, deconstruct the situation, analyze the strategic picture, and
then come to a conclusion. If they cannot determine a satisfactory answer
themselves, they must ask questions up the chain of command until they
understand why. If frontline leaders and troops understand why, they can
move forward, fully believing in what they are doing.
It is likewise incumbent on senior leaders to take the time to explain and
answer the questions of their junior leaders so that they too can understand
why and believe. Whether in the ranks of military units or companies and
corporations, the frontline troops never have as clear an understanding of
the strategic picture as senior leaders might anticipate. It is critical that
those senior leaders impart a general understanding of that strategic
knowledge—the why—to their troops.
In any organization, goals must always be in alignment. If goals aren’t
aligned at some level, this issue must be addressed and rectified. In business
just as in the military, no senior executive team would knowingly choose a
course of action or issue an order that would purposely result in failure. But
a subordinate may not understand a certain strategy and thus not believe in
it. Junior leaders must ask questions and also provide feedback up the chain
so that senior leaders can fully understand the ramifications of how strategic
plans affect execution on the ground.
Belief in the mission ties in with the fourth Law of Combat:
Decentralized Command (chapter 8). The leader must explain not just what
to do, but why. It is the responsibility of the subordinate leader to reach out
and ask if they do not understand. Only when leaders at all levels
understand and believe in the mission can they pass that understanding and
belief to their teams so that they can persevere through challenges, execute
and win.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
“This new compensation plan is terrible,” said one of the midlevel
managers. “It will drive our best salespeople away.” The rest of the class
agreed.
Toward the end of a short leadership-development program for the
company’s midlevel managers, my discussions with the class had revealed a
major issue that created stress and fragmentation among the ranks of the
company.
Corporate leadership had recently announced a new compensation
structure for their sales force. The new plan substantially reduced
compensation, especially for low-producing salespeople.
“What’s the issue?” I asked the group.
“It’s hard enough to keep salespeople here; this doesn’t help!” one
manager responded.
“They don’t get how hard it is in this market,” said another, referring to
corporate senior leadership. “This new compensation plan will push people
to our competitors.”
“Some of my folks have already heard rumors about it; they don’t like it
at all. And I can’t convince them otherwise. I don’t believe in it myself!”
another responded.
I asked them all a simple question: “Why?”
“Why what?” one of the managers responded.
“Why is your leadership making this change?” I asked.
“Hell if I know!” one manager stated emphatically, which brought
laughs from the group.
I smiled and nodded. Then I asked again: “OK, but why do you think
they are implementing this plan? Do you think they want to push your best
salespeople out the door? Do they want those salespeople to go to your
competitors? Do you think they actually want the company to lose money
and fail?”
The room was quiet. The managers—most of whom respected their
bosses and maintained good relationships with the company’s corporate
leadership—knew their leaders were smart, experienced, and committed to
the success of the company. The problem was that no one could understand
why this new plan had been implemented.
“Has anyone asked?” I questioned them.
The room fell silent. Finally the class clown blurted out, “I’m not
asking. I like my job!” Laughter erupted from the room.
I smiled and let them settle down. “Understandable,” I replied. “So the
CEO, is she unreasonable? Would she actually fire someone for asking the
question?”
The group of managers mumbled, “No.”
“What is it then?” I asked.
Finally, one of the more senior managers spoke up with a serious
answer: “I’d feel pretty stupid asking. Our CEO is smart and has a lot of
experience. She gets this business.”
“OK,” I shot back. “So you’re all just scared to look stupid?”
Heads nodded in a universal yes.
I nodded as well, now more fully understanding the issue. No one wants
to look stupid, especially in front of the boss. “Let me ask you this,” I
continued. “When you can’t explain the reason behind this new
compensation plan to your sales force, how does that make you look?”
“Stupid and scared,” the class clown responded.
“Exactly!” I shot back, in jest. But I knew a simple, easy way to solve
the problem had been uncovered.
That afternoon I swung by the CEO’s office. She was meeting with the
company’s president of sales.
“How is the workshop going?” the CEO inquired.
“It’s going pretty well,” I said. “You have a solid crew of managers.”
“Absolutely. They are a great group,” replied the CEO.
“How is your relationship with them?” I asked.
“Oh, I think it is very strong with most of them. Some of the newer ones
I don’t know all that well yet, but as a whole, I have a good relationship
with our managers,” the CEO answered.
“Do they ever confront you on anything or ask questions?” I asked.
The CEO thought for a few seconds. “Not really,” she acknowledged. “I
think they get the business, and I think they know what we are trying to do.
So there really isn’t much that they would need to confront me on. I’ve
been in this game a long time. I wouldn’t be here today if I didn’t know
what I was doing. They know that and I think they respect that. Experience
counts for a lot in this business. But I think if they had an issue, they would
certainly bring it up to me.”
A common misperception among military leaders or corporate senior
executives, this was an example of a boss who didn’t fully comprehend the
weight of her position. In her mind, she was fairly laid back, open to
questions, comments, and suggestions from people. She talked about
maintaining an “open-door policy.” But in the minds of her sales managers,
she was still The Boss: experienced, smart, and most important, powerful.
That position demanded a high level of reverence—so high, in fact, that for
an employee to question her ideas seemed disrespectful. None of them were
comfortable questioning her, even though none of the midlevel managers
actually worried about losing their jobs because they asked a question. But
they were certainly worried about looking bad in front of The Boss.
“I’m not sure they are as comfortable confronting you or opening up to
you as you think,” I stated bluntly.
“Really?” The CEO asked with a slightly puzzled face.
“Let me give you an example that came up today,” I replied. “The new
sales compensation plan.”
“What about it? Don’t they like it?” the CEO asked with surprise.
“It’s not that they don’t like it,” I answered. “I don’t think they get it.”
“Don’t get it? The plan isn’t really that complex. In fact, it is simple,”
said the CEO, preparing to give me the quick explanation.
“It’s not that they don’t get what the plan is,” I said. “You’re right: it is
simple. It reduces overall compensation for sales staff, especially for the
low producers.”
“Exactly. What’s the issue with that?” the CEO said. She was right.
Even I, without experience in this particular field, had no trouble
understanding the basic concept of the new compensation plan.
“The issue is not that they don’t understand the plan, but that they don’t
understand why the plan is being implemented. They don’t believe in it.
They think this plan will drive away good salespeople, who will look for
and possibly find better compensation plans at your competitors,” I
explained.
The CEO now got a little defensive. “Then they clearly don’t understand
what I am doing with the business,” she stated. “When we cut
compensation, especially on the low-producing salespeople, that savings
reduces cost. When I reduce cost for salespeople, it reduces our overhead.
With overhead reduced, I can lower the price of our products. That will
allow our bigger producers to bring in even more business. Sure, the new
compensation plan is punitive toward our bottom people, but those bottom
people really don’t move the needle in our business. If some of them leave,
it won’t impact our business. In fact, it will allow some of our better
producers to expand into those accounts and increase sales. So there is
opportunity for our sales force to do even better.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” I replied.
“It absolutely does,” said the CEO. She explained how she had made
this move before in a tough market. “It almost always helps. It might reduce
the overall size of our sales force, but it will increase our volume in the long
run. A smaller, more effective sales force also reduces overhead: lower
health care costs, fewer desks, fewer computers to buy, greater efficiency. It
is a win-win.”
“That sounds brilliant. There is only one problem with it,” I said.
“What’s that?” the CEO asked, incredulous.
“Your midlevel managers don’t understand those points—they don’t
understand why—and so they don’t believe in the strategy. If they don’t
believe, neither will your sales force. If this plan rolls out and those
executing it don’t believe in it, your plan is far more likely to fail.”
“So what can I do to make them believe?” asked the CEO.
“It’s easy,” I explained. “Just tell them why.”
The CEO finally understood what she needed to do.
For my training with the midlevel managers the next day, the CEO made
an appearance and kicked things off with a short presentation.
“Good morning, everyone,” she began. “Jocko pointed out to me that
you all had some issues with the new compensation plan. What don’t you
like?”
After a few moments of silence, one of the more senior managers finally
mustered the courage to speak up. “Cutting into our sales team’s take-home
pay hurts,” said the manager. “It may drive some of them elsewhere, and
that could hurt us in the long run.”
The CEO smiled. She explained the details of the strategy behind the
plan: the increased volume, the reduced overhead, the greater capture of
existing accounts when handled by higher producing salespeople. The
managers quickly saw the connection and understood the benefits of the
plan.
“Does anyone have any questions?” the CEO finished. No one spoke up.
“Seriously. Does anyone have any questions? Don’t be afraid to ask. I
obviously didn’t make this clear to you. And unfortunately, none of you
asked!” she jabbed.
“No, I think we get it now,” one of the managers replied.
“Do you think you can explain it to your sales force in a manner that
they will understand?” asked the CEO.
“I do,” a manager answered. “But I still think some of the low producers
will be upset.”
“I’m sure some of them will be,” the CEO replied. “As I said, that is
part of the strategy here. The ones I want you to focus on here are the big
producers and those that you think have the potential to become big
producers. I have done this before; we will get results. Anyone else have
anything?”
The room, now loosened up by the straight-shooting conversation with
the CEO, relaxed and broke into some small talk before the CEO went on
her way. The class continued.
“What do you think?” I asked the class.
“That is exactly what we needed,” said one manager.
“Now I get it,” remarked another.
“I wish we would have known that all along,” a third manager stated.
“Let me ask you another question: Who is to blame for the CEO not
explaining this to you in more detail?” I asked.
The managers in the room remained silent. They knew the answer and
nodded as they acknowledged a topic that I had covered in detail earlier.
“That’s right,” I said, “you! That is what Extreme Ownership is all
about. If you don’t understand or believe in the decisions coming down
from your leadership, it is up to you to ask questions until you understand
how and why those decisions are being made. Not knowing the why
prohibits you from believing in the mission. When you are in a leadership
position, that is a recipe for failure, and it is unacceptable. As a leader, you
must believe.”
“But the boss should have explained this to us, right?” one manager
asked.
“Absolutely. I explained that to her, and, sure enough, she came down
here and did just that. But she’s not a mind reader. The CEO can’t predict
what you won’t get or understand. She’s not perfect; none of us are. Things
are going to slip through the cracks from time to time. It happens. I made all
kinds of mistakes when I led SEALs. Often, my subordinate leadership
would pick up the slack for me. And they wouldn’t hold it against me, nor
did I think they were infringing on my ‘leadership turf.’ On the contrary, I
would thank them for covering for me. Leadership isn’t one person leading
a team. It is a group of leaders working together, up and down the chain of
command, to lead. If you are on your own, I don’t care how good you are,
you won’t be able to handle it.”
“So we let the boss down when we didn’t ask questions and
communicate with her,” said one of the quieter managers in the back of the
room.
“Yes, you did,” I confirmed. “People talk about leadership requiring
courage. This is exactly one of those situations. It takes courage to go to the
CEO’s office, knock on her door, and explain that you don’t understand the
strategy behind her decisions. You might feel stupid. But you will feel far
worse trying to explain to your team a mission or strategy that you don’t
understand or believe in yourself. And, as you pointed out, you are letting
the boss down because she will never know that her guidance is not being
promulgated properly through the ranks. If you don’t ask questions so you
can understand and believe in the mission, you are failing as a leader and
you are failing your team. So, if you ever get a task or guidance or a
mission that you don’t believe in, don’t just sit back and accept it. Ask
questions until you understand why so you can believe in what you are
doing and you can pass that information down the chain to your team with
confidence, so they can get out and execute the mission. That is leadership.”
Bruiser SEALs take the high ground, South-Central Ramadi. Charlie Platoon’s point man and lead
sniper, Chris Kyle, observes smoke from Team Bulldog, Bravo Company, (B/1-37) Abrams tanks’
120mm main gun impacts in the distance. The Soldiers of Team Bulldog, an exceptional combat unit,
continuously braved treacherous IED-laden roads to bring the thunder from their M1A2 Abrams
tanks in support of Charlie Platoon SEALs. Bulldog’s courageous efforts saved SEAL lives and
systematically beat back the insurgency from one of the most dangerous areas of Ramadi. SEALs and
Soldiers formed an unbreakable bond that remains to this day.
(Photo courtesy of the authors)
CHAPTER 4
Check the Ego
Jocko Willink
CAMP CORREGIDOR, RAMADI, IRAQ: WELCOME TO RAMADI
Enemy tracer rounds were zipping overhead as I raced up the stairs to the
third-story rooftop of our tactical operations center (TOC) building. Our
camp was under attack. I hadn’t even had time to fasten my body armor.
When the shooting started, I grabbed my helmet and rifle, slung my loadbearing equipment over my shoulders, and headed for the roof. SEALs were
arriving by the dozen, some in flip-flops with only shorts and T-shirts under
their body armor, but helmets on and weapons at the ready.
Just across the river, in the darkness, enemy fighters had unleashed
heavy volleys of machine gun fire on two separate U.S. outposts and the
American Soldiers were returning fire with a vengeance. The bright glow of
tracer fire was evident in both directions. Another group of enemy fighters
had engaged our camp and were hammering our TOC building with gunfire
from the far bank of the Euphrates River.
But they hadn’t counted on the response. Within minutes, every Navy
SEAL in Task Unit Bruiser and several of our non-SEAL support personnel
were on the rooftop shooting back. Some SEALs had brought their M4
rifles, others M79 40mm grenade launchers, others their Mk48 and Mk46
belt-fed machine guns. We unleashed incredible volleys of fire back at the
enemy fighters’ muzzle flashes. I directed an M79 gunner to put some
40mm illumination rounds up so we could better identify our targets.
Leif was on the rooftop right next to me, shooting and directing fire.
The SEAL just beside him unloaded two full hundred-round belts through
his machine gun, spewing spent shell casings across the rooftop that
bounced with a metallic clink. Everybody was shooting, having a hell of a
time. There was much laughter as guys unloaded what was clearly a
ridiculous amount of gunfire at the enemy. Soon, the enemy fighters were
either dead or retreating and their attack subsided. The SEAL machine
gunner looked around with a smile.
“This is my third deployment to Iraq,” said the SEAL machine gunner,
excitedly. “And that’s the first time I’ve ever fired my machine gun in
combat.” It was his first day on the ground in Ramadi.
A few of us had been here for a week, including Leif, some of the other
key leaders, and me. But most of Task Unit Bruiser’s SEALs had arrived
only that day. As much fun as we had shooting from the rooftop, this was a
wake-up call for everyone in Task Unit Bruiser. This was Ramadi, a total
war zone and the most violent place in Iraq. For those of us who had
deployed to Iraq previously, it was a realization that this time would be
different—and a lot more dangerous. Welcome to Ramadi.
* * *
Throughout 2005 and 2006, the vast and volatile Al Anbar Province was the
most dangerous place in Iraq, accounting for the majority of U.S. casualties
in Operation Iraqi Freedom. Of all the places in Anbar, the city of Ar
Ramadi was the most deadly. Located on the Euphrates River, Ramadi, with
four hundred thousand residents, was the capital of Anbar Province and the
epicenter of the violent Sunni insurgency. The city was strewn with rubblepile buildings, burned-out hulks of twisted metal that had once been
vehicles, and walls marred by bullet holes. Giant bomb craters from IEDs1
dotted the main roads through town. Thousands of heavily armed Sunni
insurgent fighters loyal to al Qaeda in Iraq controlled some two-thirds of the
geographic area of the city. U.S. forces couldn’t even begin to penetrate
these areas without sustaining massive casualties. Al Qaeda in Iraq claimed
the city as the capital of their caliphate.
Valiant U.S. Army Soldiers and Marines ran convoys and patrols along
the deadly, heavily IED’ed roads. They conducted cordon and search
operations into enemy territory and engaged in fierce fighting. Most of the
several thousand U.S. troops in Ramadi were located on large secure bases
outside the city itself. But along the main road through the city, a string of
isolated U.S. Marine and Army outposts were constantly under attack.
The level of determination and sophistication from insurgent fighters in
Ramadi was alarming—far beyond what any of us in Task Unit Bruiser had
seen on previous deployments. Several times a week, groups of twenty or
thirty well-armed enemy fighters launched hellacious attacks on U.S.
forces. These were well-coordinated, complex attacks executed
simultaneously on multiple U.S. outposts separated by several kilometers.
They were hardcore muj.
Many enemy attacks followed a similar pattern. Each began with a
sudden barrage of accurate, devastating machine gun fire from multiple
directions, which hammered the American sentry posts and forced those on
guard to take cover. Then, while Soldiers or Marines were hunkered down,
deadly RPG-7 shoulder-fired rockets were launched in rapid succession,
impacting with violent noise and lethal shrapnel. Next, mortars (fired from
some distance away) rained down inside the walls of the coalition
compound, often impacting with alarming accuracy. All this was done in an
effort to take out the sentries or force them to keep their heads down long
enough so they couldn’t return fire, while the enemy launched their final
and most devastating weapon: the VBIED suicide bomber driving a large
truck or vehicle filled with several thousand pounds of explosives.2 If the
truck made it past the concrete barriers, past the Marine or Army sentries
that would engage them, and inside the compound, the results could be
catastrophic—as deadly as the most powerful U.S. Tomahawk missile
launched from a Navy warship or Joint Direct Attack Munition (JDAM)
guided bomb dropped from U.S. aircraft.
These enemy attacks were well coordinated and viciously executed. The
Sunni jihadi militants were far more capable than those I had previously
seen in Iraq two years before and eager to wipe out the American outposts,
leaving dozens of Marines or Soldiers dead and many more wounded. But
those fearless Marine and Army sentries held their ground every time and
beat the insurgents back. Instead of taking cover to save themselves, the
young Marines and Soldiers who manned the watchtowers and sentry posts
courageously stood fast and returned fire with deadly accurate machine gun
fire of their own. Their selfless stands almost always prevented those
VBIEDs from entering all the way into compound. The VBIED might
explode in a massive fireball and concussion, but the enemy could not get
close enough to U.S. forces, protected behind sandbags and concrete
barriers. The Marines and Soldiers fought off those attacks with such
frequency that they almost became commonplace—just another day in
Ramadi.
In Task Unit Bruiser, we were confident and perhaps even a little cocky.
But I tried to temper that confidence by instilling a culture within our task
unit to never be satisfied; we pushed ourselves harder to continuously
improve our performance. I reminded our troops that we couldn’t take the
enemy for granted, that we could never get complacent. With all that in
mind, the boys of Task Unit Bruiser were fired up and eager to prove
themselves as we deployed to Ar Ramadi in the spring of 2006.
Immediately upon arrival, we were humbled by the violence of the
battlefield and the incredible heroism of conventional U.S. Soldiers and
Marines of the 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 28th (2-28) Infantry Division.
Our SEALs had the benefit of much more advanced training and all the
finest weapons, lasers, optics, and gadgetry that the enormous Special
Operations Command budget could buy. But we were in awe of the Soldiers
and Marines who manned the outposts in enemy territory and were daily
locked in a deadly struggle against a fierce and determined enemy. When
the 1st Armored Division’s Ready First Brigade Combat Team arrived to
replace 2-28 a month into our deployment, again we developed a deep
respect and admiration for these brothers-in-arms and were proud to serve
alongside them. Every one of the conventional units3 we worked with had
seen extensive combat; all had lost troops, and suffered many more
wounded. These Soldiers and Marines were the real deal. They epitomized
the term “warrior.”
The enemy was also strong and incredibly capable. They were deadly
and efficient, always watching, analyzing, and looking for weaknesses to
exploit. If U.S. forces were to win in Ramadi, I saw right away that all of us
—U.S. conventional Army and Marine units and Special Operations units
like our SEALs in Task Unit Bruiser—had to work together and support
each other. Unfortunately, there were a small number of U.S. special
operations units, including some SEALs, who viewed themselves as a cut
above regular U.S. Army Soldiers and Marines and would only operate
independently. That cockiness produced some conventional Army and
Marine commanders who didn’t like special operations units. But if U.S.
forces were to win this difficult fight here in Ramadi, we would all need to
check our egos and work together.
From our earliest arrival, we established the precedent that in TU
Bruiser we would treat our Army and Marine brothers-and sisters-in-arms
with nothing but the highest professional respect and courtesy. SEAL units
are sometimes known for long hair and sloppy uniforms. But to
conventional units, appearance was a measure of professionalism. In Task
Unit Bruiser, I insisted that our uniforms be squared away and our haircuts
military regulation. We sought ways to work together with these units in
support of one another. The goal was simple: secure and stabilize Ramadi.
With this attitude of humility and mutual respect, we forged strong
relationships with the Army and Marine battalions and companies that
owned the battlespace in and around Ramadi. We took great risks to patrol
deep into enemy territory to provide sniper support and protect friendly
troops in the streets. Those Soldiers and Marines, in turn, constantly put
their troops at risk to come help us with heavy fire support—M1A2 Abrams
tanks and M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicles—and casualty evacuations when
we needed it.
After a month on the ground in Ramadi, Task Unit Bruiser had made a
mark. We had figured out how to position ourselves on the high ground
where we could do the most damage to enemy fighters and best support the
U.S. Army and Marine units operating in the city. When the enemy rallied
to attack, SEAL snipers sprung into action and engaged with precision
sniper fire, killing large numbers of well-armed muj fighters and routing
their attacks. As enemy activity escalated, so did SEAL aggression. Once
our SEAL elements were discovered, our positions transitioned from
clandestine sniper hide sites into fortified fighting positions. SEAL machine
gunners joined in the fight, hammering enemy fighters with hundreds of
rounds from their belt-fed machine guns. Other SEALs lobbed 40mm highexplosive grenades and launched our own shoulder-fired rockets at the
enemy. Rapidly, the number of enemy fighters killed at the hands of our
Task Unit Bruiser SEALs grew to unprecedented levels. Every bad guy
killed meant more U.S. Soldiers, Marines, and SEALs survived another
day; they were one day closer to returning home safely to their families.
Every enemy fighter killed also meant another Iraqi soldier, policemen, or
government official survived, and more Iraqi civilians lived in a little less
fear of al Qaeda in Iraq and their insurgent allies. We fought an evil enemy,
perhaps as evil as any the U.S. military had faced in its long history. These
violent jihadis used torture, rape, and murder as weapons to ruthlessly
terrorize, intimidate, and rule over the civilian populace who lived in abject
fear. The American public and much of the Western World lived in willful
naïveté of the barbaric, unspeakable tactics these jihadis employed. It was
subhuman savagery. Having witnessed this repeatedly, in our minds and
those of the people who suffered under their brutal reign, the muj deserved
no mercy.
* * *
For our relatively small group of about thirty-six SEALs, the number of
enemy fighters killed on a daily basis drew attention from the upper
echelons of our chain of command. As Task Unit Bruiser continued to
operate with awesome lethality, some other units across Iraq wanted in on
the action in Ramadi.
One particular group of advisors from another part of Iraq had similar
capability to our SEALs in Ramadi and worked alongside a well-trained
Iraqi Army unit. Unlike most Iraqi soldiers, these troops were equipped
with good gear including some of the best rifles, scopes, lasers, night-vision
goggles, and body armor in Iraq. With the right training and the right
equipment, these Iraqi soldiers’ skill level and operational capabilities far
exceeded any of the other Iraqi Army units we worked with in Ramadi.
Because of their superior training and high level of visibility with U.S. top
military brass, this Iraqi unit and their U.S. advisors had a great deal of
leeway to operate wherever and however they wanted. When they got wind
of the action in Ramadi, they quickly gained approval to move there and get
to work.
When the new unit arrived, they were sent to Camp Corregidor Forward
Operating Base on the eastern side of the city. Camp Corregidor was owned
and operated by the U.S. Army 101st Airborne Division’s First Battalion,
506th Parachute Infantry Regiment—the legendary “Five-O-Sixth” made
famous by Stephen Ambrose’s book Band of Brothers (which became an
HBO miniseries). The book followed a single company’s heroic efforts in
the European campaign against Nazi Germany in World War II. Those
brave men had set a high standard, and the modern-day Soldiers of the
1/506th carried on that tradition with pride and added to their historic
legacy.
The 1/506th Battalion was commanded by a U.S. Army lieutenant
colonel, an extremely smart, charismatic, and professional officer who set
the standard for military leaders. He was one of the finest battlefield
commanders with whom I had the honor to serve. The colonel commanded
with subtle intensity that was complemented with a genuinely kind and
easygoing attitude. He was an incredible leader; and leading men in the
violent battle in Ramadi demanded every ounce of leadership possible.
Camp Corregidor was combat living defined. Everything was difficult
there. A fine, powderlike sand, which U.S. troops called “moon dust,”
caked buildings, equipment, weapons, vehicles, clothing, and skin. But that
was the least of the problems. Camp Corregidor bordered one of the most
dangerous areas of Ramadi, called the Ma’laab District. The camp was
under constant attack from mortars, machine guns, and rockets.
The colonel expected the highest level of discipline from his 1/506th
Soldiers; he knew that slacking here, even when just going to the chow hall
for lunch, could result in horrific wounds and death. Discipline in such a
situation started with the little things: high-and-tight haircuts, a clean shave
every day, and uniforms maintained. With that, the more important things
fell into place: body armor and helmets worn outdoors at all times, and
weapons cleaned and ready for use at a moment’s notice. Discipline created
vigilance and operational readiness, which translated to high performance
and success on the battlefield.
We sent Task Unit Bruiser SEALs from Delta Platoon to live and work
out of Camp Corregidor to train and combat-advise Iraqi soldiers there and
support the 1/506th Band of Brothers. When the SEAL element arrived,
they humbly took on the same habits as their 1/506th hosts. Despite more
relaxed grooming standards SEALs typically enjoy elsewhere, the SEALs
at Camp Corregidor cropped their hair short, shaved every day, and even
donned the same ACU (army combat uniform) camouflage as their Army
counterparts. This overt sign of camaraderie endeared the SEALs to the
Soldiers of the 1/506th. These Soldiers had been in a bloody fight for nearly
six months, and the SEALs treated them with professionalism and respect.
The Army returned that respect, and a bond quickly formed between
Soldiers and SEALs.
Our SEALs had been working out of Camp Corregidor for several
weeks, carrying out dangerous operations with courage, skill, and
effectiveness when the new unit arrived. At first, the SEAL platoon
commander at Camp Corregidor was concerned at the arrival of the new
well-trained Iraqi unit and their American advisors. He called me on the
field-expedient telephone and confided, “This unit that just arrived likely
has a much better capability than us. They have a lot of experience. Their
Iraqis’ skill level is far and above our conventional jundhis. They have
much better gear and good weapons; and their Iraqis even have a sniper
capability.”
I replied, “That’s good. I’m glad there are Iraqi soldiers that have
progressed that far. If you show them the ropes and get them familiar with
the battlespace, they will be a great asset.”
“I don’t know,” the SEAL platoon commander replied. “I’m worried
these guys will be better than us and take over our mission. Maybe I should
just let them figure it out on their own,” he said.
I quickly realized what was going on. As good as this platoon
commander was, his ego was being threatened. In an environment like
Ramadi, trying to figure things out for yourself could easily get you killed.
This was no place for ego.
“No. Don’t even think about that. Listen: the enemy is outside the wire,”
I told my SEAL platoon commander bluntly.
Our enemies were the insurgents lurking in the city of Ramadi, not other
coalition forces “inside the wire” on the U.S. bases with us. We had to all
work together toward the same goal of defeating that insurgency. We
couldn’t let ego get in the way.
I continued, “This new advisor unit—these are Americans and good
Iraqis, possibly the best Iraqis; you do whatever you can to help these guys.
If they outperform your team and take your mission, good. We will find you
another one. Our mission is to defeat this insurgency. We can’t let our egos
take precedence over doing what is best to accomplish that.”
“Got it, boss,” said the platoon commander. A smart and humble
warrior, he quickly recognized his viewpoint was wrong and changed his
attitude. It was immaterial which units did what or who conducted the most
operations. It was about the mission and how we could best accomplish it
and win. The platoon commander and his element of SEALs had been
bravely fighting hard. They had been in dozens of firefights in the few
weeks they had been at Corregidor and could use all the help they could get
from another capable unit.
While the SEAL platoon commander quickly put his ego in check,
unfortunately, there were other egos getting in the way. As the new unit
began to interact with the SEALs and the 1/506th personnel, some of their
attitudes raised eyebrows. A few of them did not carry themselves with the
same humility as the Band of Brothers 1/506th Soldiers and our SEALs did
on Camp Corregidor. A handful of the troops from the new unit flaunted an
undisciplined appearance. Some had mustaches and goatees with long hair.
They wore dirty baseball caps and cutoff T-shirts with mismatched
uniforms. Now, some military units on remote, isolated bases might ease
their grooming standards in order to fit in with the local populace or with
the foreign military units they are working with. In some cases, such an
appearance might even be required. But here in Ramadi, in close proximity
with conventional forces on bases owned and operated by the Army and
Marine Corps, this was bound to cause friction.
In the minds of some of the members of this new unit, they were above
conforming to the colonel’s strict grooming policies. But that alone was an
issue that could be overcome. After all, a clean uniform does not a good
soldier make. But the problems didn’t stop there. Some of the unit’s U.S.
advisors did not address the 1/506th Soldiers with professionalism and
respect. They talked down not only to rank Soldiers but also to senior
leaders. Considering virtually every rifleman in the 1/506th had more
combat experience than most of the men in this unit ever would, this was
especially shocking.
To make matters worse, the new unit made it clear that they had little
interest in listening to advice or learning from the SEAL platoon
commander and his men. After weeks of sustained combat operations in
one of the worst sectors of Ramadi, our SEALs had learned lessons that
saved lives. From specific gear needed to how much ammunition to carry,
to the amount of water needed for missions, to effective tactics and
communications plans, the SEALs had learned a great deal about
conducting operations with 1/506th in this specific area. When they
attempted to pass this valuable information on to the new unit, their advice
was shunned. Overconfidence was risky in such a hostile environment, a
mistake most often made by warriors who had never truly been tested.
Because of the thousands of well-armed insurgents and the extreme
violence that engulfed Ramadi, every U.S. unit had to carefully coordinate
plans and be ready to support each other. Here the constant threat from a
large-scale enemy attack, with the potential to overwhelm and annihilate a
small group of U.S. troops, was very real. That meant everyone had to share
operational details of plans as much as they could in order to ensure
synchronized efforts. From large battalion-size operations to simple
logistics convoys, it was essential to coordinate and keep other units
informed in order to give everyone the greatest chance of survival and
prevent fratricide. Yet, when planning their missions, this new unit working
in 1/506th battlespace refused to disclose their plans, locations, timelines, or
other operational details. They didn’t think they needed to inform the
colonel of their plans. This meant they intended to go out into the colonel’s
battlespace, among his units, rely on his support when things went
sideways, and conduct operations without fully coordinating. When the
1/506th battalion operations officer confronted them and asked for the plan
detailing their first mission, the new unit’s leader told him, “We’ll tell you
later on a need-to-know basis.”
When the 1/506th tactical operations center (TOC) inquired about the
unit’s specific planned location for a mission, (a standard practice to
prevent friendly units operating in the area from accidently engaging them,
and enabling the 1/506th TOC to send help to their location when needed)
the unit’s leader provided a four-digit grid (from the military grid reference
system). This meant that the unit’s troops could be located anywhere within
a thousand-meter grid square—all but worthless to the 1/506th TOC.
Earlier, we had learned some tough lessons in information sharing, or lack
thereof, that had resulted in fratricide. In such a dangerous operating
environment with large numbers of well-armed enemy fighters and multiple
friendly units maneuvering in the same battlespace, such lack of
coordination could well mean a death sentence.
The SEAL platoon commander soon reported back to me on the friction
between the new unit and the 1/506th Soldiers. My advice was simple:
“Give them what they need and try to help them if you can, but it sounds
like they will make their own bed.”
Unfortunately, the platoon commander was not able to help and the
situation did not improve. In less than two weeks, the colonel directed the
unit to leave Camp Corregidor. With such impressive operational capability,
they should have been a big contributor to the fight. But the colonel and his
troops simply could not risk working with a group where some members’
egos prevented them from ever fully integrating with the 1/506th battalion.
As a result, the unit had to watch the historic Battle of Ramadi from afar as
Delta Platoon SEALs and 1/506th Soldiers took the fight to the enemy in
the Ma’laab, killing scores of insurgents and helping to accomplish the
strategic objectives of securing and stabilizing the city.
PRINCIPLE
Ego clouds and disrupts everything: the planning process, the ability to take
good advice, and the ability to accept constructive criticism. It can even
stifle someone’s sense of self-preservation. Often, the most difficult ego to
deal with is your own.
Everyone has an ego. Ego drives the most successful people in life—in
the SEAL Teams, in the military, in the business world. They want to win,
to be the best. That is good. But when ego clouds our judgment and
prevents us from seeing the world as it is, then ego becomes destructive.
When personal agendas become more important than the team and the
overarching mission’s success, performance suffers and failure ensues.
Many of the disruptive issues that arise within any team can be attributed
directly to a problem with ego.
Implementing Extreme Ownership requires checking your ego and
operating with a high degree of humility. Admitting mistakes, taking
ownership, and developing a plan to overcome challenges are integral to
any successful team. Ego can prevent a leader from conducting an honest,
realistic assessment of his or her own performance and the performance of
the team.
In the SEAL Teams, we strive to be confident, but not cocky (see
chapter 12). We take tremendous pride in the history and legacy of our
organization. We are confident in our skills and are eager to take on
challenging missions that others cannot or aren’t willing to execute. But we
can’t ever think we are too good to fail or that our enemies are not capable,
deadly, and eager to exploit our weaknesses. We must never get
complacent. This is where controlling the ego is most important.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
Leif Babin
“I’ve got an immediate fire that’s causing us a big issue, and I need some
help with this,” said the voice mail. “Please give me a call as soon as you
can.”
The voice mail was from Gary, a midlevel manager in the operations
department of a corporation with which Jocko and I had worked through
our company, Echelon Front. We had developed a twelve-month leadership
program for the corporation. Every few weeks, we traveled to their
corporate headquarters for training with a class of a dozen midlevel
managers from various departments. In addition to the classroom sessions,
we provided coaching and mentorship to help our course participants apply
what they learned in class to their everyday leadership challenges.
Jocko and I had spoken to Gary by phone several times over the past
few months and helped him solve some minor leadership dilemmas and
build a more effective team. He was a hard worker, dedicated to his job and
his team, and he was eager to learn. It was rewarding to watch him grow as
a leader over the months of our course. As a result, he had much greater
confidence in himself to make the decisions that would help his team more
effectively execute their mission. Now he had a major issue—a serious
leadership challenge that was pressing. I was eager to help.
I quickly gave him a call to find out what had happened and what I
could do.
“How you doing, Gary?” I asked when he picked up the phone.
“Not too good,” Gary responded. “We just had a major issue on one of
our critical projects.”
“What happened?” I asked. I couldn’t hope to match Gary’s expertise in
this industry. But I could help him solve his leadership challenges, improve
communication, and run a more effective team.
“Our drilling superintendent made a call on his own to swap out a
critical piece of equipment,” said Gary. “He totally violated our standard
operating procedures. I have told him before how I wanted this done, and he
completely blew me off!” Gary was angry.
Obviously, Gary’s ego had been bruised by the fact that the drilling
superintendent hadn’t cleared the decision through him.
“This was something he knew he should have run through me,” Gary
continued, “and he blatantly did not. He made the wrong call, and that set
our completion date back several days, costing our company serious
capital.” In this industry, each day lost on the project could cost hundreds of
thousands of dollars.
“Tell me about your superintendent,” I said. “Why do you think he
would do that?”
“No idea,” said Gary. “He knows he has to run that call through me. But
he’s been in this business way longer than I have, and he’s got a ton of
experience. Sometimes he looks at me, and his face says What the hell do
you know? I’m sure he thinks he knows better than me.”
“Perhaps he was just pushing the envelope to see what he could get
away with,” I replied. “Which can escalate if you let it go.”
“That’s part of the problem. I’m worried about how he will respond to
my critique,” said Gary. “With his years of knowledge and experience, he is
a critical member of this team. We can’t afford to lose him. If I call him out,
he is going to blow up at me and the friction between us is likely to get even
worse than it already is. And you know the climate in this industry. With his
experience, he can find another job tomorrow if he wants to.”
“That means you will have to check your ego in order to have a
constructive discussion with him and get this under control,” I responded.
“Let’s think through this,” I continued. “Do you think he deliberately
tried to shut down drilling operations and cost the company money?”
“No,” admitted Gary. “I’m sure he thought he was doing what was best
for the immediate situation as it presented itself.”
“At the tactical level, on the front lines where the guys in the field
execute the mission,” I said, “it is critical that the troops grasp how what
they do connects to the bigger picture. Your superintendent may not have
really understood how his failure to follow procedure and get approval for
these changes would result in hundreds of thousands of dollars lost. Do you
think that is possible?”
“Definitely. He has exceptional hands-on knowledge of drilling, but he
doesn’t really deal with the big picture,” Gary replied. His anger subsided
and his bruised ego diminished as he realized the superintendent had
probably not been willfully insubordinate. He now began to understand the
reasons the superintendent made the decisions he did.
“As a leader, it is up to you to explain the bigger picture to him—and to
all your front line leaders. That is a critical component of leadership,” I
replied.
But Gary was still concerned about how to deal with his drilling
superintendent—and the superintendent’s ego. “How can I communicate
this to him without ruffling his feathers and getting him all pissed off at
me?” asked Gary. “If I confront him about this, our communication will get
even worse than it already is.”
“That is another critical component of leadership,” I quickly replied.
“Dealing with people’s egos. And you can do so by using one of the main
principles we have taught you during our course: Extreme Ownership.”
Gary responded, “Ownership of what? He’s the one that screwed this
up, not me.” It was clear Gary’s ego was getting in the way of the solution
to this problem.
“Ownership of everything!” I answered. “This isn’t his fault, it’s yours.
You are in charge, so the fact that he didn’t follow procedure is your fault.
And you have to believe that, because it’s true. When you talk to him, you
need to start the conversation like this: ‘Our team made a mistake and it’s
my fault. It’s my fault because I obviously wasn’t as clear as I should have
been in explaining why we have these procedures in place and how not
following them can cost the company hundreds of thousands of dollars. You
are an extremely skilled and knowledgeable superintendent. You know
more about this business than I ever will. It was up to me to make sure you
know the parameters we have to work within and why some decisions have
got to be run through me. Now, I need to fix this so it doesn’t happen
again.’”
“Do you think that will work?” asked Gary, sounding unconvinced.
“I’m confident it will,” I replied. “If you approached it as he did
something wrong, and he needs to fix something, and he is at fault, it
becomes a clash of egos and you two will be at odds. That’s human nature.
But, if you put your own ego in check, meaning you take the blame, that
will allow him to actually see the problem without his vision clouded by
ego. Then you both can make sure that your team’s standard operating
procedures—when to communicate, what is and isn’t within his decisionmaking authority—are clearly understood.”
“I wouldn’t have thought to take that tact,” Gary admitted.
“It’s counterintuitive,” I said. “It’s natural for anyone in a leadership
position to blame subordinate leaders and direct reports when something
goes wrong. Our egos don’t like to take blame. But it’s on us as leaders to
see where we failed to communicate effectively and help our troops clearly
understand what their roles and responsibilities are and how their actions
impact the bigger strategic picture.
“Remember, it’s not about you,” I continued. “It’s not about the drilling
superintendent. It’s about the mission and how best to accomplish it. With
that attitude exemplified in you and your key leaders, your team will
dominate.”
PART II
THE LAWS OF COMBAT
Bruiser SEALs clear target buildings in central Ramadi. Ruthless insurgents could be waiting behind
every door or firing from every window or rooftop. Enemy mortars, rifles, machine guns, RPG-7
rockets, and IEDs made every clearance a challenge.
(Photo courtesy of Michael Fumento)
CHAPTER 5
Cover and Move
Leif Babin
SOUTH-CENTRAL RAMADI, IRAQ: COVERING THE FLANK
“So what are we doing?” asked our leading petty officer.
The clock was ticking and every second counted. There were no good
options. Each one could have deadly consequences. But I had to make a
call.
* * *
As SEALs, we often protected the troops in the streets with our snipers and
machine gunners in a type of operation we called “sniper overwatch.” By
taking the high ground in buildings and positioning SEAL snipers where
they could best observe and engage enemy fighters maneuvering to attack,
we could eliminate threats and disrupt insurgent attacks before they could
fully materialize. This helped mitigate the substantial risks to U.S. and Iraqi
troops patrolling the streets, enabled them to more safely accomplish their
mission, and ensured more U.S. Soldiers and Marines came home alive to
their families back in the States.
The U.S. Army’s Ready First Brigade Combat Team (1st Armored
Division) adopted a radical and innovative strategy to take back Ramadi
from the malevolent clutches of the insurgency—Seize, Clear, Hold, Build.
It called for U.S. forces to penetrate into the most dangerous enemy-held
neighborhoods, push back insurgent fighters, and construct permanent U.S.
combat outposts from which to base further operations. Iraqi soldiers were
brought in to take part in the effort. Once a foothold was established in
enemy territory, the next step required a show of force in enemy controlled
areas and engagement with the Iraqi populace in the neighborhood. Though
the battles raged around them, hundreds of thousands of civilians lived in
the city and simply tried to survive. Securing the people and protecting
them from the brutal jihadi fighters that hid among them was the key to
victory. Integral to the success of this strategy were cordon and search
operations—clearing through city blocks house by house. Often executed
during daylight hours, these operations could be treacherous for the U.S.
Army Soldiers, Marines, and Iraqi troops as they cordoned off
neighborhoods (or sectors) and moved street to street, building to building
through some of the most violent areas of the city.
* * *
On one particular operation, Team Bulldog (U.S. Army Bravo Company,
1st Battalion, 37th Armored Regiment) planned a large cordon and search
operation in a particularly dangerous area of South-Central Ramadi
spanning several blocks from their base located in the heart of enemy
territory, a combat outpost called COP Falcon. Such an operation required
some one hundred Soldiers on the ground, supported by armor—M1A2
Abrams Main Battle Tanks and M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicles—with their
substantial firepower. Additional forces from the battalion were brought in
to reinforce Team Bulldog in this effort.
Through dozens of dangerous combat operations, we had built an
excellent working relationship with the U.S. Soldiers and tankers of Team
Bulldog. Bulldog’s company commander was one of the finest combat
leaders I have known. He and his Soldiers were exceptional warriors. Our
SEALs had tremendous respect and admiration for their courage and
fighting spirit as they lived everyday under constant attack, right in the
heart of dangerous enemy territory. Our SEAL elements worked out of COP
Falcon and from there pushed even deeper into enemy territory. When we
were ferociously attacked by insurgents, which was often, the company
commander personally mounted up in his tank, rallied his troops, and
brought the thunder with the main guns of Team Bulldog’s M1A2 Abrams
tanks to bear on our behalf. He and his Bulldog Soldiers were an
outstanding group, eager to close with and destroy the enemy, and we loved
them for it.
On this particular cordon and search operation, our SEALs from Charlie
Platoon and Task Unit Bruiser would provide sniper overwatch, while our
SEAL combat advisors would manage a platoon of Iraqi soldiers
participating in the clearance on the ground. Jocko teamed up with the
Army battalion’s operations officer, who would help manage the clearance,
while Jocko would provide command and control as well as coordination of
our SEAL elements supporting the operation.
In planning, we decided to set up two separate SEAL sniper overwatch
positions several hundred meters apart to cover the U.S. Army and Iraqi
Army cordon and search teams as they entered buildings block by block
across the sector. The first SEAL sniper overwatch position, OP1, led by
Charlie Platoon’s assistant officer-in-charge, would take position in a large
four-story apartment building some three hundred meters to the east of COP
Falcon to protect the northern flank of the cordon and search teams. I would
lead a second SEAL sniper overwatch position, OP2, of eight SEALs and
seven Iraqi soldiers. We planned to take position about one kilometer
southeast of COP Falcon along the southern flank of the cordon and search
teams. The area was heavily IED’ed.
At 0200 local time (or two o’clock in the morning), those of us in OP2
stepped off via foot patrol from COP Falcon into the dark and dangerous
Ramadi streets. Empty at this hour, all appeared quiet. But in this
neighborhood, enemy fighters could be waiting around every corner. The
other SEAL overwatch team, OP1, would depart an hour later, since their
position was very near the friendly combat outpost and it was one they
knew well, having utilized this position before. My team, OP2, had much
farther to travel, and not having been in any of the buildings in the
immediate area, we would need more time to establish a good position. On
the patrol in, I served as patrol leader positioned second from the front, just
behind the point man. We moved as quietly as possible through the streets,
weapons trained at every angle, watching for enemy, ready for contact at all
times. We took great care to avoid debris, such as trash piles on the street or
other suspicious items, being deliberate in where we stepped, as the threat
from IEDs was substantial. Each man carried a heavy load of weapons,
ammunition, and water, in anticipation of what we knew could likely be a
big and lengthy fight come daylight.
This urban war zone was straight out of a Hollywood set for a World
War II movie, like the ones we watched growing up: walls riddled with
bullet holes, burnt-out cars in the streets, rubbled buildings, and bomb
craters. It was surreal to be in a place filled with such violence and
destruction. We continued our patrol down the dusty, trash-covered streets,
weapons bristling in all directions. Our patrol snaked through alleyways,
avoiding the rare operating streetlamp (most had been shot out or didn’t
have electrical power), and maneuvered the best we could around packs of
mangy street dogs whose barking could give away our position. We planned
to utilize a two-story house as our OP2 overwatch position and thought it
would provide a clear view to cover the cordon and search teams’ southern
flank.
After a twenty-minute patrol without incident we arrived at the location.
Just outside the walled compound, the entire element took up security
positions around the gate. With weapons covering, we boosted a couple of
our Iraqi soldiers over the wall. They quickly unbolted the gate from the
inside and then let the rest of us in. SEAL shooters and Iraqi soldiers swiftly
but quietly flowed into the compound and moved toward the house’s front
door. Iraqi soldiers knocked and instructed the family inside to open up. A
bewildered Iraqi man answered the door and complied. SEALs quickly
cleared the compound, checking each room, a second-story balcony, the
rooftop, and the interior courtyard for threats. Once clear, we set security
positions.
The house provided a decent view in one direction along the main road.
In the other direction, however, it offered little vantage point except from an
exposed balcony. It was also difficult to place key security positions without
exposing personnel to attack from surrounding buildings. Our OP2 snipers
brought these significant concerns to me and our platoon’s leading petty
officer (LPO)—one of my most trusted leaders. We were in a bind.
“We could take the building next door and maintain a security
contingent there,” the LPO offered. It was a great idea, and we decided to
pursue that option.
Leaving a team in place, we sent a clearance team to the adjacent
building. But what they found was not encouraging: the vantage point was
no better. Positioning adequate security forces in two different buildings
would spread us extremely thin, especially in such a dangerous
neighborhood crawling with heavily armed muj. With this option not
practical, I talked things over with the LPO. It was still dark, but sunrise
was not far off, and the first call to prayer would soon echo from the
mosque minarets and awaken the city. Time was running out to get into
position, especially as the cordon and search teams of Army Soldiers, our
SEAL advisor teams and Iraqi soldiers would commence their operation
soon and were depending on our sniper overwatch team to cover them.
“No options are good,” I lamented. “But our least bad option is to pull
everyone back to our original building and secure that position as best we
can.” The LPO agreed and immediately executed the plan. We knew the
position had substantial vulnerabilities, but we would have to do all we
could to mitigate such risks. Our SEAL snipers took positions to best
protect the troops on the ground, and then we placed the rest of our team in
positions to protect the snipers, one of whom was somewhat exposed on the
balcony. With the position set, OP2’s SEAL radioman made a call to our
other SEAL sniper overwatch, OP1, reporting our position. We then
checked in on Team Bulldog’s net and passed our location to Jocko, who
was with Team Bulldog at COP Falcon, so he could coordinate with the
other troops on the ground.
“Aaaaallllllaaaaaaaaaahhhhhuu Akbar…” echoed the first call to
prayer from the minaret loudspeakers of mosques throughout the city,
signaling the dawning of the day. Soon, the first rays of light painted the
eastern horizon, and South-Central Ramadi began to awaken. Even in this
war-torn city, some semblance of normal life carried on. People emerged
from their houses. Cars and trucks backed out of driveways and made their
way down city streets. Shepherd boys drove their herds of sheep down the
road to graze along the fertile banks of the Euphrates River. The sun rose
with searing heat which would crescendo midday to baking temperatures of
over 115 degrees Fahrenheit.
Over the radio, the Soldiers of Team Bulldog signaled their cordon and
search operation was under way. Dozens of Soldiers (including the SEAL
advisor and Iraqi soldier clearance team) moved out from COP Falcon
accompanied by armored firepower from Abrams tanks and Bradley
vehicles. From our position hundreds of meters away, OP2 could hear the
heavy grind of tank tracks on pavement and the rev of their powerful gas
turbine engines. I checked in with Jocko via radio, as he moved out with the
cordon and search team. All was proceeding according to plan.
In such a nasty neighborhood, it didn’t take long for enemy fighters to
mount an attack. The first attempts came from the north. OP2 could hear the
report of big rifles as OP1’s SEAL snipers hammered a couple of armed
insurgents moving to attack. Soon, our OP2 snipers observed three enemy
fighters with AK-47s and an RPG rocket maneuvering through the streets
toward the clearance teams. SEAL snipers engaged, hitting two of the three
and sending the third running for cover. With those shots, the enemy had a
good indication of where we were. Within the hour, the first bursts of muj
machine gun fire snapped over the heads of the two SEALs positioned on
the balcony. It was only the beginning, as the enemy sporadically engaged
our building and probed our position. We knew their attacks would no
doubt grow bolder as they pinpointed our position and the day progressed.
The cordon and search operation proceeded with sporadic gunfire and a
few warning shots fired. The SEAL sniper overwatch positions were able to
help thwart any major attacks before they could materialize. The vigilant
Team Bulldog Soldiers with their tanks at the ready were also a substantial
deterrent. Within about two hours of sunrise, the Army Soldiers along with
Jocko and the small team of SEAL combat advisors with their Iraqi soldiers
had cleared every building in the sector. Having accomplished their
mission, they all moved safely back to COP Falcon. It had been a relatively
smooth operation, which, in such a dangerous neighborhood right in the
heart of South-Central Ramadi, was somewhat miraculous. No American or
Iraqi soldiers had been wounded or killed. That was also a testament to
good planning and execution by the U.S. forces involved and a tribute to the
effectiveness of the SEAL sniper overwatch teams.
With the cordon and search force back at COP Falcon, both SEAL
overwatch teams—OP1 and OP2—had accomplished our objectives. Our
standard operating procedure (SOP) dictated we remain in position until
nightfall and then patrol back to base under cover of darkness, when we
could more safely move through the dangerous streets. A small element
patrolling in broad daylight through enemy territory presented serious risk
of almost certain contact. Enemy machine guns, RPG-7 shoulder-fired
rockets, and IEDs could be utilized to deadly effect. But for OP2, remaining
in our current position also presented great risks. The building we held had
substantial tactical vulnerabilities. The enemy knew where we were, and
there was a high probability that with enough time, enemy fighters would
mount a serious attack. Should they do so, we might very well take
significant casualties and even find our position overrun by determined
enemy fighters at close quarters.
This presented quite a leadership dilemma. Again, I discussed options
with my trusted LPO: “We can stay where we are and wait until nightfall.
Or we can quickly break out of here and foot-patrol back to COP Falcon. Or
we could call in the Bradleys1 for extract, though that could take some
time.” Bradley Fighting Vehicles provided protection from small-arms fire
behind their armored plating, and they brought significant firepower with a
25mm chain gun and 7.62mm coaxial machine gun. But they required some
time to coordinate—to brief crews and drive to our position. Bradleys were
loud and the bad guys would hear them coming from some distance. This
option would also expose the U.S. Soldiers that crewed the vehicles to the
substantial IED threat, as the roads in the vicinity of our position were
extremely dangerous and had not been swept by the IED-clearance teams.
This could very well result in an IED strike—a deadly explosive buried in
the road, which might kill or seriously wound the Soldiers inside. Were this
to happen, it would require sending even more vehicles and troops in
harm’s way to extract casualties and downed vehicles.
Calling in the Bradleys meant waiting for perhaps another half hour and
would put Team Bulldog Soldiers in significant danger. It would also
endanger us riding in the vehicles through heavily IED’ed streets. If we
stayed in position until dark in accordance with SOP, we would almost
certainly have to fend off increasingly violent enemy attacks for another
eight to ten hours. Should those attacks exploit the significant weaknesses
of our defenses, we might be pinned down and unable to depart without
calling in massive fire support and putting more forces at even greater risk
to bail us out.
If we pulled out on foot immediately and quickly patrolled back to COP
Falcon, we would probably get shot at. But it would likely be a hasty attack
that the muj wouldn’t have enough time to coordinate for maximum
effectiveness. We could help mitigate that risk by moving quickly and
utilizing misdirection in the streets and alleyways to prevent the enemy
from predicting our exact route back to COP Falcon so they couldn’t set an
ambush. Still, any gunfire we received no matter how hasty could certainly
kill or horribly wound any of us.
No options were good options. We had to choose the least bad option.
“So what are we doing, L-T?”2 asked the LPO. Time was ticking.
I had to make a call. “We’re pulling out,” I decided. It was the least bad
option. “Let’s get packed up quick and break out of here as soon as we
can.”
“Roger that,” said the LPO. He passed the word to the rest of OP2, and
everybody quickly gathered up their gear and double-checked to ensure
nothing was left behind. Our OP2 radioman contacted OP1, the other sniper
overwatch team, to tell them we were moving back on foot to the combat
outpost. We also notified Team Bulldog’s Soldiers back at COP Falcon,
where Jocko and a few of our SEALs with the clearance team had returned.
For OP1, only a short three-hundred-meter patrol from COP Falcon,
there was no such dilemma about what to do. They had an easy foot patrol
back to COP Falcon, covered by COP Falcon’s nearby tanks and heavy
machine guns the entire way. OP1 radioed to us in OP2 that they too were
pulling out. But OP1 made the mistake of not telling Jocko, which meant he
could not coordinate the movement.
“Roger that,” our OP2 radioman responded to OP1’s call. He relayed the
information to the LPO and me. With our focus entirely on getting OP2
moving out in a hurry, we thought little of it. Every minute that passed by
gave enemy fighters more time to coordinate a serious attack on our
position. Within a few minutes, everyone was ready. We quickly briefed the
team and emphasized that we needed to move fast.
“Let’s do this,” was the consensus. Everybody knew we would likely
get in a gunfight. But we wanted that gunfight to be on our terms, not the
enemy’s.
With everything ready, we broke out of the building and emerged onto
the street, our weapons pointed in all directions, ready for a fight. We
quickly moved out and made our way through the streets, covering and
moving as a team past Iraqi citizens who stared at us with some surprise.
When aggressive men with guns pointed their weapons at them, the locals
knew to keep their distance. Anyone who didn’t avoid interfering with a
heavily armed SEAL squad was certainly looking for trouble. Rapidly, we
pushed past parked cars and piles of trash. Threats were everywhere in this
urban environment. Every gate, door, and alleyway that we passed, the
distant intersections down the street at ground level, and above us from
every rooftop, balcony, and upstairs window—each presented the
possibility of well-armed muj fighters ready to inflict horrible wounds or
death upon us.
Our tactic, which we had trained for, practiced, and utilized, was a
fundamental one we called “Cover and Move.” Within our OP2 squad, we
had four elements of smaller teams. One team covered, their weapons
trained on threats, while the other team moved. Then those teams reversed
roles. In this way, the teams leapfrogged in bounds, constantly utilizing
Cover and Move to ensure we were prepared to fend off an attack as we
maneuvered through the streets.
For about five hundred meters, OP2 moved along steadily, making our
way back toward COP Falcon. Then all hell broke loose. Fully automatic
gunfire erupted from the rear of the patrol. Insurgent fighters had followed
us and heavily engaged us with AK-47s and PKC belt-fed machine guns,
and rounds smashed into nearby walls and kicked up dust in the street right
at our feet.
Immediately, we responded with withering gunfire of our own. Our
SEAL machine gunners were an awesome sight to behold, fearlessly laying
down fire with deadly accuracy, even as enemy rounds impacted all around
them. Like a well-oiled machine, we executed a “center peel” maneuver: a
coordinated tactic where two columns systematically alternate shooting at
the enemy and moving away in a safe direction until able to break contact. I
lobbed a few 40mm grenades over the heads of our patrol and onto enemy
positions to help keep their heads down as we bounded back. Our
overwhelming fire quickly repulsed the enemy attack, and we continued to
a street corner that provided additional cover, moving in a hurry toward
COP Falcon. Those courageous SEAL machine gunners had provided the
cover fire that enabled us to move safely through the maelstrom. Within
minutes, we covered the remaining distance to the COP and made our way
past the Abrams tank guarding the entrance. We pushed past the concertina
wire and concrete barriers into the relative safety of the U.S. Army combat
outpost. We were breathing hard after running and gunning in the late
morning heat with heavy gear. But we had all survived without a scratch.
The LPO and I smiled and laughed at each other. We had just gotten
ourselves into a solid gunfight on the street, hammered the enemy, and
brought everyone back unscathed. It was awesome. We were fired up.
But already back at COP Falcon was our platoon chief. He had been
with the cordon and search force and had returned earlier with Jocko and
the rest of our small team of SEALs and the Iraqi soldiers. Chief wasn’t
happy. He pulled me aside.
“What the hell were you guys doing out there?” the chief asked sternly.
“What do you mean?” I asked, immediately getting defensive.
The chief was a hell of a battlefield leader—extraordinary in a gunfight.
With a long career of nearly twenty years, he was the most experienced
SEAL in the task unit, and we highly valued his guidance and mentorship.
Never one to shy away from a fight, he was courageous and always eager to
close with and destroy the enemy. So why now was he critical of us,
particularly my leadership on the battlefield?
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“Why didn’t you leave the other SEAL sniper overwatch position—OP1
—in place to cover your movement back here to COP Falcon?” the chief
asked.
I thought about that for a moment. My initial defensiveness wore off.
He was right.
“No reason,” I replied, understanding that his logic was absolutely
correct. I realized my error. “I was so focused on our own squad’s dilemma,
I didn’t think to coordinate with the other team, OP1, to work together. We
absolutely should have.” This was the first rule in Jocko’s Laws of Combat:
Cover and Move. I had broken it. We had used Cover and Move within my
own immediate OP2 team, but I had forgotten about the greater team and
support available. We had operated independently, failing to support or help
each other. Had we left OP1 in place, they would have had an excellent
vantage from the high ground and could have covered our OP2 movement
much of the way as we patrolled through the dangerous streets back to COP
Falcon. Once at the COP, we (OP2) could have provided additional cover
for OP1 as they returned to COP Falcon.
It was foolishness not to work together. Though we were working in
small teams with some distance between us we weren’t on our own. We
were all trying to accomplish the same mission. The enemy was out there
working against us—all of us. It was essential that we support each other
and work together. One element must cover so that the other element could
move. Our OP2 had gotten lucky this time around, damn lucky. But my
chief knew, and I now recognized, that we had taken a needless and foolish
risk. We should have utilized every strength and tactical advantage possible
against these ruthless enemy fighters occupying Ramadi. The most
important tactical advantage we had was working together as a team,
always supporting each other.
It was a rude awakening for me. I had become so immersed in the
details, decision points, and immediate challenges of my own team that I
had forgotten about the other team, what they could do for us and how we
might help them.
Going forward I never forgot my chief’s guidance. We utilized the
principle of Cover and Move on every operation: all teams working
together in support of one another. That realization and the lesson learned
implemented no doubt saved lives, greatly reduced casualties and enabled
us to more effectively accomplish our mission and win.
PRINCIPLE
Cover and Move: it is the most fundamental tactic, perhaps the only tactic.
Put simply, Cover and Move means teamwork. All elements within the
greater team are crucial and must work together to accomplish the mission,
mutually supporting one another for that singular purpose. Departments and
groups within the team must break down silos, depend on each other and
understand who depends on them. If they forsake this principle and operate
independently or work against each other, the results can be catastrophic to
the overall team’s performance.
Within any team, there are divisions that arise. Often, when smaller
teams within the team get so focused on their immediate tasks, they forget
about what others are doing or how they depend on other teams. They may
start to compete with one another, and when there are obstacles, animosity
and blame develops. This creates friction that inhibits the overall team’s
performance. It falls on leaders to continually keep perspective on the
strategic mission and remind the team that they are part of the greater team
and the strategic mission is paramount.
Each member of the team is critical to success, though the main effort
and supporting efforts must be clearly identified. If the overall team fails,
everyone fails, even if a specific member or an element within the team did
their job successfully. Pointing fingers and placing blame on others
contributes to further dissension between teams and individuals. These
individuals and teams must instead find a way to work together,
communicate with each other, and mutually support one another. The focus
must always be on how to best accomplish the mission.
Alternatively, when the team succeeds, everyone within and supporting
that team succeeds. Every individual and every team within the larger team
gets to share in the success. Accomplishing the strategic mission is the
highest priority. Team members, departments, and supporting assets must
always Cover and Move—help each other, work together, and support each
other to win. This principle is integral for any team to achieve victory.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
“Those guys are horrible,” said the production manager. He described a
subsidiary company, owned by their parent corporation, on which his team
depended to transport their product. “They can’t get their jobs completed on
schedule. And that prevents us from doing our jobs.” Clearly, there were
major issues between his field leaders—the frontline troops of his team—
and those of the subsidiary company.
Jocko and I stood before the class of a dozen midlevel managers seated
at tables forming a U-shape in a conference room of the company’s
corporate headquarters. In the second session of a twelve-month leadershiptraining program, our presentation and discussion centered on the Laws of
Combat. We solicited from each of the class participants specific leadership
challenges that they currently faced. Jocko and I set about to help them
solve these challenges through the application of the SEAL combat
leadership principles they had just learned.
The production manager explained that his team struggled to minimize
downtime in their production—the times when they had to cease making
product. These disruptions occurred for a variety of reasons, but they
stopped product from moving to market, and every hour and day of
downtime cost the company huge revenues and substantially impacted the
bottom line. With his crew just getting up and running, there had been a
steep learning curve. The production manager’s team maintained an average
downtime that was much worse than the industry standard. Such a glaring
discrepancy was a major detriment to the company’s profits. As a result, the
production manager was under scrutiny and intense pressure to reduce
downtime. The subsidiary company on which his production team
depended became the major scapegoat to blame.
“We spend a lot of our time waiting on them [the subsidiary company],
and that causes big problems and delays for us,” said the production
manager. “Those delays are impacting production and costing our company
serious revenue.”
“How can you help this subsidiary company?” I asked the production
manager.
“I can’t!” he replied. “They don’t work for me. We don’t work for the
same bosses. They are a different company.” While he was right that they
were a different company, both companies fell under the leadership of the
same parent corporation.
“Besides,” he added with indifference, “they aren’t my problem. I’ve got
my own team to worry about.”
“It sounds like they are your problem,” I responded.
“In that sense,” he agreed, “I guess they are.”
“What’s worse,” continued the production manager, now on a roll of
bashing the subsidiary company, “because corporate owns them, we are
forced to use their services.”
“What you just called the worst part should be the best part,” Jocko
responded. “You are both owned by the same corporation, so you both have
the same mission. And that is what this is about—the overall mission, the
overall team. Not just your team, but the whole team; the entire corporation
—all departments within your company, all subsidiary companies under the
corporation, outside contractors, the whole enterprise. You must work
together and support each other as one team.”
“The enemy is out there,” I said, pointing out the window to the world
beyond. “The enemy is all the other competing companies in your industry
that are vying for your customers. The enemy is not in here, inside the walls
of this corporation. The departments within and the subsidiary companies
that all fall under the same leadership structure—you are all on the same
team. You have to overcome the ‘us versus them’ mentality and work
together, mutually supporting one another.”
Just as I had on the battlefield in Ramadi years before, the production
manager was now so focused on his own department and its immediate
tasks that he couldn’t see how his mission aligned with the rest of the
corporation and supporting assets, all striving to accomplish the same
strategic mission. As I had done after some constructive guidance from my
chief, the production manager must now be willing to take a step back and
see how his production team’s mission fit into the overall plan.
“It’s about the bigger, strategic mission,” I said. “How can you help this
subsidiary company do their job more effectively so they can help you
accomplish your mission and you can all win?”
The production manager pondered this. He was still skeptical.
“Engage with them,” directed Jocko. “Build a personal relationship with
them. Explain to them what you need from them and why, and ask them
what you can do to help them get you what you need. Make them a part of
your team, not an excuse for your team. Remember the stories Leif and I
have told about relying on other units to support us? Those Army and
Marine Corps units we worked with were not under our control. We had
different bosses. But we depended on them and they depended on us. So we
formed relationships with them and worked together to accomplish the
overall mission of securing Ramadi. That’s Cover and Move. You need to
do the same thing here: work together to win.”
The production manager was a driven leader who wanted his team to
perform at the highest level. Now, he began to understand true teamwork.
The proverbial lightbulb went off in his head, and his attitude completely
changed: if he wasn’t working together with this subsidiary company, then
he was failing his team.
Over the next weeks and months, the production manager made every
effort to positively engage with the subsidiary company, to communicate
with them, and establish a better working relationship. He came to more
fully understand the myriad challenges that impacted their timelines and
caused delays and what he could do on his end to help mitigate those issues.
It wasn’t that they were “horrible,” as he had initially surmised. They were
operating with limited resources and limited manpower. Once he accepted
that they weren’t out to sabotage his team, he realized that there were steps
that he and his team could take to help the subsidiary company become
more efficient and fill in gaps that had caused their delays. Instead of
working as two separate entities against each other, they began to work
together.
With this shift in mind-set, the production manager’s encouragement
enabled his field leaders to see the subsidiary company employees in a
different light: not as adversaries but as critical resources part of the same
greater team. Most important, the production team began to work with the
subsidiary company’s field team. Within a few months, the production
team’s field leaders encouraged key personnel from the subsidiary company
to sit in on their coordination meetings. Very soon, the “us versus them”
mentality had all but disappeared. They had broken through the silos and no
longer worked against each other. The production team’s downtime
radically improved to industry leading levels. They now worked together as
one team—Cover and Move.
Band of Brothers: Iraqi soldiers and U.S. Military Transition Team advisors, SEALs from Task Unit
Bruiser, and U.S. Army Soldiers from 1/506th, 101st Airborne (Task Force Red Currahee) use smoke
grenades to mask their movement from enemy shooters, on patrol in Ramadi.
(Photo courtesy of Michael Fumento)
CHAPTER 6
Simple
Jocko Willink
COMBAT OUTPOST FALCON, RAMADI, IRAQ: INTO THE FRAY
WHOOM!
A massive explosion shook the walls of the building I was sitting in
right in the middle of Combat Outpost (COP) Falcon. Adrenaline shot from
my core, down my arms, into my hands. Seconds later, another explosion
rocked the compound. Soon the word spread: mortars. Insurgents had
lobbed 120mm mortar rounds smack-dab into the center of COP Falcon
with deadly accuracy. “One-twenties” were vicious. Each massive projectile
carried twenty-plus pounds of high explosives wrapped in a half-inch-thick
steel jacket designed to throw jagged pieces of shrapnel in all directions,
causing catastrophic wounds and death. The rounds had wounded several
American Soldiers at COP Falcon, one critically, who later succumbed to
his injuries. A third 120mm mortar round hit the roof of the building I was
in, but thankfully for the Soldiers nearby, it didn’t explode: it was a dud.
The mortars were alarmingly accurate, proving once again that the
insurgents we were fighting were highly capable. As daylight dawned on
this early morning, it was a grim reminder that this was dangerous territory,
and we were sitting right in the middle of it.
The night before, Leif and his SEALs from Task Unit Bruiser’s Charlie
Platoon had inserted from U.S. Marine Corps Small Unit Riverine Craft
(SURC) boats manned by a great crew of highly motivated Marines.
Charlie Platoon’s SEALs, accompanied by an expert team from the 2nd
U.S. Marine Air-Naval Gunfire Liaison Company (ANGLICO) with which
they often worked closely, a small Army sniper team, and a partner force of
Iraqi Soldiers had hopped from the SURC boats onto the riverbank. They
quietly sneaked into this enemy-controlled neighborhood—one of the most
violent areas of Ramadi. Our SEALs were the first U.S. boots on the
ground. They led the opening salvo of this massive operation involving
hundreds of U.S. Soldiers, tanks, and aircraft to establish a combat outpost,
literally in the center of enemy-controlled territory. Within minutes of their
arrival, Charlie Platoon had killed an armed insurgent fighter patrolling the
neighborhood in the early morning darkness. SEALs then seized and
cleared the building complex that was to become COP Falcon and held it
for a few hours into the night while SEAL snipers provided cover for the
dozens of U.S. Army tanks and vehicles that followed the IED clearance
teams along the road into the area. I had ridden in with the U.S. Army
battalion Task Force 1-37 Bandits (1st Battalion, 37th Armored Regiment,
1st Armored Division) in an M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicle early in the
morning before the sun had risen, to link up with Leif and Charlie Platoon.
My job was command and control of our SEALs. I would coordinate their
efforts with Task Force Bandit’s Soldiers.
Shortly after our arrival, Charlie Platoon’s SEALs turned the buildings
they had cleared and occupied over to the U.S. Army company commander
of Team Bulldog and other Soldiers of Task Force 1-37 Bandit. Then Leif
and most of the SEALs pushed out to a building a few hundred yards down
the road to set up another sniper position. I remained at COP Falcon to
coordinate their movements providing overwatch for the Army combat
engineers as they built COP Falcon into a defensible position. This required
extensive planning, coordination and hours of intense labor to haul and
emplace some 30,000 sandbags, over 150 concrete barriers, and hundreds of
yards of concertina wire. It had been a long night. The jarring impact of the
deadly mortars was our morning wake-up call.
There had been intermittent small-arms fire throughout the night, but no
serious firefights. The mortars were the first real attack that did damage and
inflicted casualties. Not that it slowed down the operation. The courageous
Army engineers had a job to do and they kept working, swinging hammers
and operating heavy machinery even as bullets flew; they were brave
Soldiers, to a man. As the hot Iraqi sun rose above the dusty city streets and
people awakened, so did the bulk of the enemy fighters. I soon heard the
loud report of SEAL sniper rifles from Charlie Platoon’s position on the
high ground in a four-story apartment building a few hundred meters down
the street. Leif relayed to me via radio that his SEAL snipers had engaged
enemy fighters maneuvering to attack COP Falcon.
But building the combat outpost in enemy territory was only the
beginning. There was more to be done. One of the primary objectives in
placing this combat outpost in the heart of enemy territory was to show the
local populace that we, the coalition of American and Iraqi soldiers, were
here to stay and that we did not fear the al Qaeda insurgents who had
controlled most of Ramadi unchecked for years. This could not be
accomplished by sitting and hiding inside heavily reinforced bases. The
troops had to go out and into the neighborhoods surrounding the COP. They
had to conduct a type of operation so straightforward its name requires
almost no explanation: a presence patrol. It required a group of soldiers to
push into enemy-held areas to establish their presence among the populace.
In this situation, the mission called for a combined operation including Iraqi
and American Soldiers working together.
A U.S. Army officer from a military transition team (teams of U.S.
Soldiers or Marines built and deployed to train and combat-advise Iraq
soldiers, known as MiTTs) planned to lead a group of Iraqi soldiers out into
the neighborhood. The MiTT leader was very excited to get out on patrol
with his Iraqi soldiers and test their mettle. He had been working and
training with them for several months in another city in northern Iraq and
had conducted some fairly benign patrols and combat operations with them.
But this was Ramadi. There would be nothing easy or benign about
patrolling into these neighborhoods. Here, the enemy was determined, well
armed, and ready. They would be waiting to attack and kill any U.S.
Soldier, SEAL, Marine, or Iraqi soldier that they could. My immediate
discussions with the MiTT leader revealed he did not fully appreciate the
dangers that lay in store. I was also concerned that his Iraqi soldiers might
not yet be ready for the intense street fighting that was likely to take place
in this sector of Ramadi. So I assigned a small group of our SEALs to
accompany him and his Iraqi soldiers as command and control to help
coordinate any help should they need it.
I stood with one of Charlie Platoon’s young SEAL officers, who would
lead the SEAL element accompanying the Iraqi soldiers, as the MiTT leader
strolled over to us and pulled out his battle map to brief us on the route he
intended for the patrol. He outlined a path that snaked through the
treacherous city streets and stretched clear across South-Central Ramadi
over to the next U.S. combat outpost to the east, COP Eagle’s Nest. This
was nearly two kilometers through some of the most hostile territory in Iraq
held by a determined and vicious enemy. None of the roads had been
cleared by the U.S. minesweeping teams, so no doubt massive IEDs lay
buried along the route. That meant U.S. armored vehicles and firepower
could not get to the patrol along much of the leader’s planned path without
putting the vehicles at huge risk should he and his Iraqis (and now our
SEALs) get pinned down.
Beyond that, his planned route passed through battlespace owned by
different American units, including two U.S. Army companies, another
Army battalion, and a U.S. Marine Corps company. Each had unique
standard operating procedures and utilized separate radio nets. That would
mean coordinating with all these units prior to launch and setting up
contingency plans for help should something go wrong. The amount of
water needed for such a long trek in the Iraqi summertime heat that exceed
115 degrees Fahrenheit, along with the massive amount of ammunition
required to penetrate so deeply into enemy territory added up to far more
than anyone could effectively fight with or carry. Even in a much more
permissive or peaceful environment, the MiTT leader’s plan for the patrol
across battlespace owned by different units would be extremely complex.
To try to accomplish this in the worst neighborhoods of Ramadi—the most
hazardous battlefield in Iraq—was just plain crazy.
I listened to the plan. When I understood the overall idea and the
complexity it involved, I finally commented, “Lieutenant, I appreciate your
motivation to get out there and get after it. But perhaps—at least for these
first few patrols—we need to simplify this a little bit.”
“Simplify?” asked the MiTT leader incredulously. “It is just a patrol.
How complex can it get?”
I nodded my head respectfully. “I know it’s just a patrol,” I said. “But
there are some risks that can compound when working in an environment
like this.”
“It’s nothing I haven’t trained these Iraqis on,” he responded
confidently.
While I appreciated his confidence, I knew it was hard for the lieutenant
to fully grasp the complexities of the mission he was planning when he had
not executed missions in such a hostile environment.
“I know you have trained them well, and I’m sure your Iraqi soldiers are
a good group,” I said, knowing it was likely they had never been in a
serious firefight together. “But let’s look at what you have here: this route
will take you through three separate battlespace owners—two Army and
one Marine Corps. It will take you into areas that are known to be heavily
IED’ed, which will make any type of support, like CASEVAC1 or fire
support from tanks, extremely risky. They may not even be able to get to
you at all. Even though you have worked extensively with these Iraqi
soldiers, my SEALs haven’t worked with them at all. So, do you think—at
least for this first patrol—we can simplify this a little by cutting down the
distance and keeping the entire patrol inside battlespace owned by this
company, Team Bulldog?”
“That will only be a few hundred meters out,” the MiTT leader
objected.
“I know,” I replied. “I know it seems short, but let’s just keep it simple
to start, and we can expand as we get more experience.” I knew that one
real operation in this environment for the MiTT leader would convince him
that simplicity was key. After some further discussion, the MiTT leader
agreed to a much shorter, simpler route.
Soon after, the MiTT leader, his Iraqi soldiers, and a small contingent of
SEALs gathered around to go through an OPORD (operations order, the
pre-mission brief that explains the details of the operation to the members
of the team). It was this Iraqi element’s first patrol in Ramadi, and despite
the mortars that had hit and wounded several U.S. Soldiers, and the constant
sound of gunfire in the background, they didn’t seem too concerned.
Neither did the MiTT leader. Neither, for that matter, did my SEAL element
leader. Everyone seemed pretty nonchalant about the patrol. I knew that
contact with the enemy was highly likely—if not imminent.
After the brief they split up to do some final preparations: grab water,
check ammo and weapons, and go over individual instructions. I went in
and covered the route again with the SEAL element leader, noting
landmarks such as easily recognizable buildings, unique intersections, water
towers, and mosque minarets, which could be used as reference points. We
also looked at the battle map, with an overlay of numbers assigned to every
building in this sector of the city. The young SEAL officer and I reviewed
the building numbers of prominent buildings in the area so we could better
communicate both the patrol’s position and the position of the enemy,
should we need to do so.
The combined element then mustered to form up and begin the patrol. I
had already coordinated with Leif to have his element of SEALs, in their
sniper overwatch position in the four-story building three hundred meters
outside the perimeter of COP Falcon, cover the movement of the presence
patrol. With precision sniper fire, machine guns, rockets, and an elevated
fighting position, Leif’s element could effectively protect the movement of
the patrol through the streets. That would help mitigate the risk of enemy
attack. I watched closely the attitude of the troops getting ready to head out.
It wasn’t real for them yet. Finally, I walked up to the young SEAL leader,
looked him in the eye, and said, “You are going to get contacted out there. It
will happen quick. Stay sharp. Understand?”
My serious tone impacted the young SEAL lieutenant, who nodded
slowly and confirmed, “Got it, Sir. Will do.”
With that, I stepped back and watched the patrol head out the gate of
COP Falcon and into enemy territory. Curious as to how long it might take
for enemy fighters to attack, I pressed START on my stopwatch as the patrol
stepped off. This was the first overt presence patrol into this section of
South-Central Ramadi by Coalition Soldiers in months, perhaps years. Task
Unit Bruiser’s Delta Platoon, working in an adjacent sector across the city,
had for the past two months been attacked by enemy fighters on almost
every single patrol.
I monitored the radio at COP Falcon, tracking the patrol’s progress.
Suddenly, gunfire rang out, echoing across the city blocks.
Da-da-da-da-da-da-da, sounded an enemy AK-47 in the near distance.
Bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu-bu, a SEAL machine gunner
answered. It was immediately joined by dozens of other weapons that let
loose a hellacious barrage of fire, which confirmed to me that these were
my SEALs in contact. There was no other unit that unleashed such fury
when the shooting started. I looked at my watch. It had been twelve minutes
since the patrol stepped off from COP Falcon.
From my position at the COP, I listened to the radio calls. They were
broken and jumbled, weakened by the thick concrete walls of city buildings
that radio waves could not always penetrate. The shooting continued. It was
a substantial firefight. Volleys of gunfire rattled back and forth between the
patrol and enemy fighters. More garbled communications. I recognized the
voice of the SEAL element leader with the patrol but couldn’t make out
what he was saying. Leif, on the high ground with direct line of site to both
of us, had good radio communications both with the SEAL leader on the
ground with the patrol and with me. Leif received a situational update from
the patrol. He and the young SEAL element leader both communicated with
a clear, calm voice, despite the chaos of the situation, just like we had
trained. Leif relayed the report to me: two friendlies wounded, need
CASEVAC and fire support.
In order to quickly get tanks and CASEVAC vehicles out to help the
patrol, I needed to get direct radio communications with the SEAL officer
in the patrol and confirm their position. I quickly sprinted to the top of the
largest building on COP Falcon, stood up, and extended my radio antenna
for maximum reception.
I keyed up my radio to try and reach the patrol: “Redbull,2 this is
Jocko.”
“Go Jocko,” responded the SEAL leader with the patrol in a calm voice.
We now had direct radio communications.
“What do you got?” I asked.
“Two wounded. Need CASEVAC. And fire support,” he responded. Just
as he had been taught: simple, clear, concise information—exactly what
was needed.
“Roger. Confirm your location,” I said.
“Building J513,” he replied.
“Are all your troops in J51?” I asked.
“Affirm. All friendly troops in J51,” he confirmed.
“Roger. Tanks and CASEVAC inbound,” I notified him.
I sprinted back down to the first floor into the makeshift TOC where
Team Bulldog’s company commander stood waiting for the information he
needed to get his troops and tanks moving out.
“What’s going on out there, sir?” the company commander asked.
“What do they need?”
Calmly, I relayed to him the critical info: “They need fire support and
CASEVAC in vicinity of building J51. All friendly personnel are
consolidated inside building J51. There are two wounded.” I stepped to the
huge battle map hanging on the wall next to us and guided my finger to
building fifty-one on the map. “Right here,” I said and pointed to ensure
everybody was clear.
“Got it, sir,” answered the company commander. “I’ll take a section of
tanks4 and an M1135 to building J51. All friendlies are located in that
building. Two wounded.”
“Check,” I replied, confirming he had all information correct.
He quickly flew out the door toward his tank, briefed his troops, and
personally mounted up. He and his men would brave the dangerous IEDladen streets to get to the SEALs, American MiTT advisors and Iraqi troops
pinned down under enemy attack. They would do their utmost to save the
lives of their wounded.
Meanwhile, from the vantage point of Leif’s overwatch position, his
SEAL snipers and machine gunners engaged numerous enemy fighters as
they rallied to join the attack on the patrol. The powerful sniper rifles our
SEALs used made a distinct crack as they engaged multiple enemy fighters
sneaking toward the friendly patrol hunkered down in building J51. As
insurgent fighters rallied to attack the patrol, SEAL machine gunners from
the overwatch position joined in and laid down a barrage of fire, beating
back the enemy assault.
Within minutes, Team Bulldog’s tanks and M113 arrived at building
J51. At the sight of the tanks, most of the enemy fighters quickly
disappeared into the urban landscape, hiding their weapons to blend in
among the civilian populace. The two casualties were Iraqi soldiers. Both
had been shot; one while crossing the street had been abandoned by his
fellow Iraqi soldiers who fled to cover. Luckily for him, two SEALs risked
their lives to run out into the street through a hail of enemy gunfire and drag
him to safety. Both casualties were evacuated. One Iraqi soldier survived,
the other unfortunately died from his wounds. Under the cover of the tanks
firepower, the rest of the patrol exited building J51 and fell into a column
formation, bracketed by the two Abrams tanks, one fore and one aft, like a
scene from World War II. Together, they moved back toward COP Falcon.
As Team Bulldog’s tank covered the rear, an insurgent fighter with an RPG7 rocket rounded a corner to take a shot at the patrol. But before he could
fire the rocket, Team Bulldog’s company commander, sitting in the turret of
his tank, plugged him in the chest with a .50-caliber machine gun.
When the patrol made it back to COP Falcon, I met them as they entered
the compound. Making eye contact with the young SEAL leader in the
patrol, I gave him an approving nod that, without words, said: Well done;
you kept your composure and you made clear calls. You got the help you
needed and kept the rest of your team alive. The SEAL leader nodded back:
he understood.
The MiTT leader was clearly shaken up. It had been his first serious
firefight—his first real test as a leader. Luckily, he had our SEAL element
with him, which helped ensure his patrol’s survival. Fortunately, he had
agreed to keep his mission simple, to minimize complexity for the
inevitable contingencies that could arise. It was a worst-case scenario. Had
this gunfight happened where he had originally planned to go—much
deeper into enemy territory, out of the range of COP Falcon, with separate
supporting Army or Marine elements that had different radio frequencies
and different operating procedures—it would likely have been catastrophic.
If they had made this patrol more difficult and complex than it already was,
the MiTT leader and all his Iraqi soldiers might have been killed.
I gave the MiTT leader a different nod than the one I gave the SEAL
leader. This nod said, That’s why we keep it simple. The MiTT leader looked
back at me. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes communicated to me clearly,
I know that now. I understand.
PRINCIPLE
Combat, like anything in life, has inherent layers of complexities.
Simplifying as much as possible is crucial to success. When plans and
orders are too complicated, people may not understand them. And when
things go wrong, and they inevitably do go wrong, complexity compounds
issues that can spiral out of control into total disaster. Plans and orders must
be communicated in a manner that is simple, clear, and concise. Everyone
that is part of the mission must know and understand his or her role in the
mission and what to do in the event of likely contingencies. As a leader, it
doesn’t matter how well you feel you have presented the information or
communicated an order, plan, tactic, or strategy. If your team doesn’t get it,
you have not kept things simple and you have failed. You must brief to
ensure the lowest common denominator on the team understands.
It is critical, as well, that the operating relationship facilitate the ability
of the frontline troops to ask questions that clarify when they do not
understand the mission or key tasks to be performed. Leaders must
encourage this communication and take the time to explain so that every
member of the team understands.
Simple: this principle isn’t limited to the battlefield. In the business
world, and in life, there are inherent complexities. It is critical to keep plans
and communication simple. Following this rule is crucial to the success of
any team in any combat, business or life.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
“I don’t have any idea what this means,” the employee said as he held up a
piece of paper that was supposed to explain his monthly bonus. “Point
eight-four,” he continued. “I have no idea what that number means. What I
do know is that my bonus for this month was $423.97. But I have no idea
why. Last month I made $279 bucks. Don’t know why. I did the same
amount of work; produced about the same amount of units. But for some
reason, I got shortchanged last month. What the hell?”
“Are they trying to get you to focus on one aspect of your job?” I
inquired.
“Honestly, I have no idea,” he replied. “I mean, I’m happy for the
bonus, but I don’t know what they want me to focus on.”
I spoke to several other assembly technicians in this division on a visit
to the manufacturing plant of a client company. Over and over again, I
heard similar answers. People weren’t sure what they should be focused on.
They had no idea how their bonuses were calculated or why they were
being rewarded or penalized in pay each month.
The next day I met with the chief engineer and plant manager. They
were both extremely smart and passionate about the company and took a lot
of pride in their products. They also recognized that there was a disconnect.
“We definitely are not maximizing our efficiency with our production
staff,” said the plant manager, her frustration evident.
“No doubt about it,” explained the chief engineer. “We have a relatively
small line of products here. There are some nuances, but they are all similar
to produce. We thought we could ramp up production when we created the
bonus plan, but it hasn’t really worked.”
“Yeah,” added the plant manager, “there is real opportunity to make
significant money through the bonus plan, but the employees on the line
don’t seem to adapt and focus to take advantage of it.”
“Explain to me how the bonus system works,” I said.
“OK. It’s a little tricky,” warned the plant manager.
“That’s fine, I’m sure it can’t be too hard,” I replied, knowing that
excessive complexity was one of the major problems of any SEAL unit (or
any military unit) on the battlefield. It was essential to keep things simple
so that everyone on the team understood.
“Honestly, it is pretty complex,” the plant manager answered, “as there
are a lot of different aspects that we needed to work in to ensure that the
different facets of production were accounted for.”
“Well maybe you could just give me the basics then,” I requested.
The plant manager began: “OK. So it all starts off with a base level of
productivity. Now, as you know, we have six different units that we
assemble here, each with varying levels of complexity. So what we did was
give them a weight. Our most commonly produced model sets the standard
with a weight of 1.0. Our most complex model is weighted 1.75 and the
simplest model is a .50, with the other models weighted somewhere in
between based on the level of difficulty in assembly.”
“Of course, those are what we call the ‘base weights,’” added the chief
engineer. “Depending on the orders we get for various models, we
sometimes need to increase production of certain models, so we have a
variable weight curve, which means the weight can be adjusted up or down
depending on the specific demand at anytime.”
“This is where we had to get crafty: we then take the total weighted
number of units produced and we have a tiered efficiency metric,” the plant
manager said, clearly proud of the complex system they had developed. She
explained in intricate detail how the variable tier system worked, stratified
based on the number of people that made bonus in each tier every month.
“That way, a certain level of competitiveness is inspired and we prevent
ourselves from paying out too many bonuses, which we feel would decrease
their impact,” concluded the plant manager.
But it didn’t end there. She went into greater detail on how the
efficiency metric was then compared to the employee’s previous six-month
tiered breakout and how an employee who maintained the top 25 percent
stratification could receive an additional percentage on their bonus.
On top of that, they factored in the quality of the product. The chief
engineer and the plant manager outlined a list of common faults, breaking
these out as either “hold faults,” which could be corrected, or “fatal faults,”
which rendered a unit unusable. For each fault and type of fault registered, a
graduated weight system multiplied by a certain factor reduced an
employee’s potential bonus. A similar multiple added to the bonus for
employees who had no registered faults in the units they produced. While
the senior management expressed pride in the bonus system they had
created, it was staggeringly complex.
I was quiet for a few moments. Then, I asked, “That’s it?”
“Well,” answered the plant manager, “there are several other little
nuanced factors that we do calculate for—”
“Really?” I questioned, surprised that they didn’t catch my sarcasm.
“I’m kidding. That is crazy.”
“Crazy? What’s crazy?” she asked defensively.
They were so close to the bonus plan, so emotional and passionate about
it, that they didn’t recognize the vast complexity of it. They didn’t see their
own “fatal fault” in the confusing and elaborate scheme they had created,
one that no one in the team understood.
“That is an extremely complex plan, too complex. I think you really
need to simplify,” I said.
“Well, it is a complex environment. Perhaps if we drew it out for you,
you would understand it,” the chief engineer responded.
“It doesn’t matter if I understand it,” I responded. “What matters is that
they understand it—your production team. And not in some theoretical way.
They need to understand it to a point that they don’t need to be thinking
about it to understand it. It needs to be on the top of their minds all the
time.”
“But we have to make sure we incentivize them in the right direction,”
said the chief engineer.
“Exactly,” echoed the plant manager. “We have got to take the variables
into account so that they are constantly pushed or pulled the right way.”
They had each very clearly put extensive time and effort into the bonus
plan and now tried desperately to defend their efforts despite its glaring
overly complex deficiency.
“How well is this bonus plan working to incentivize them now?” I
asked. “You just told me they aren’t taking advantage of it, so they aren’t
being effectively incentivized to do anything differently or to move in any
direction. Your plan is so complex that there is no way that they can
mindfully move in the direction that would increase their bonus. Even when
they use operant conditioning on rats, the rats have to understand what they
are being punished or rewarded for. If there is not a strong enough
correlation between the behavior and the reward or the punishment, then
behavior will never be modified. If the rats don’t know why they received a
sugar pellet or why they were just given an electric shock, they will not
change.”
“So our people are rats?” the chief engineer said jokingly.
I laughed—it was funny—but then I replied, “No, not at all. But all
animals, including humans, need to see the connection between action and
consequence in order to learn or react appropriately. The way you have this
set up, they can’t see that connection.”
“Well, they could see it if they looked and took the time to figure it out,”
replied the production manager.
“It certainly is possible that they could. But they don’t. People generally
take the path of least resistance. It is just in our nature. Let me ask you this:
What kind of quantifiable lift have you gotten out of this incentive plan?” I
asked.
“You know, honestly we haven’t seen any real, meaningful pickup,” the
production manager admitted. “Definitely not as much as we thought we
would.”
“This actually isn’t surprising to me,” I said. “Your plan violates one of
the most important principles we adhered to in combat: simplicity. When
young SEAL leaders in training look at targets for training missions, they
often try to develop a course of action that accounts for every single
possibility they can think of. That results in a plan that is extraordinarily
complex and very difficult to follow. While the troops might understand
their individual pieces of the plan, they have a hard time following all the
intricacies of the grand scheme. Perhaps they can even get away with that a
few times if everything goes smoothly, but remember: the enemy gets a
vote.”
“The enemy gets a vote?” the plant manager repeated, questioning what
that meant.
“Yes. Regardless of how you think an operation is going to unfold,” I
answered, “the enemy gets their say as well—and they are going to do
something to disrupt it. When something goes wrong—and it eventually
does—complex plans add to confusion, which can compound into disaster.
Almost no mission ever goes according to plan. There are simply too many
variables to deal with. This is where simplicity is key. If the plan is simple
enough, everyone understands it, which means each person can rapidly
adjust and modify what he or she is doing. If the plan is too complex, the
team can’t make rapid adjustments to it, because there is no baseline
understanding of it.”
“That makes sense,” the chief engineer said.
“We followed that rule with everything we did,” I continued. “Our
standard operating procedures were always kept as simple as possible. Our
communication plans were simple. The way we talked on the radio was as
simple and direct as possible. The way we organized our gear, even the way
we got a head count to ensure we had all of our people was broken down
into the simplest possible method so we could do it quickly, accurately, and
easily at any time. With all this simplicity embedded in the way we worked,
our troops clearly understood what they were doing and how that tied in to
the mission. That core understanding allowed us to adapt quickly without
stumbling over ourselves.”
“I can see how that would be a huge advantage,” said the plant manager.
“OK then,” I concluded. “We have nothing to lose. The best way to
make your bonus plan work is to go back to the drawing board and try to
figure out a new model for compensation, with two or three—no more than
four—areas to measure and grade upon.”
The chief engineer and the plant manager accepted the mission I laid out
for them and headed back to their office to get to work.
The next day, I walked into the office. They had the plan written up on
their dry-erase board. It had only two parts: (1) weighted units; (2) quality.
“That’s it?” I inquired, this time without sarcasm.
“That’s it,” the plant manager replied. “Very simple. You produce as
many units as you can. We will still adjust the weights of the units based on
demand, but we will set the weights on Monday and let them stay there
until Friday. That still gives us time the next week to make adjustments and
change weights if demand spikes on a certain unit. And we are going to post
the weights of each unit out there on the bulletin board so that every
employee on the line sees it, knows it, and is thinking about it. The quality
piece we will measure each month. Anyone with a quality score of ninetyfive percent or higher will receive a fifteen percent increase in their bonus.”
“I like it,” I replied. This plan was much easier to communicate and
much easier to understand. “When you need to adjust it, you will be able to
do so with ease.”
That afternoon, I watched as the chief engineer and the plant manager
discussed the plan with the team leads and the afternoon shift. The response
was great.
The employees now had a good understanding of what it was they
needed to do to earn their bones. As a result, the bonus now truly
incentivized behavior and could thereby make the company more
productive.
In the coming weeks, the plant manager and chief engineer reported an
almost immediate increase in productivity. More employees focused their
energy on what product would make them more money, which was of
course aligned with the goals of the company. There were secondary effects
as well. As the higher-producing employees strove harder to increase their
bonuses, the lower-producing workers were left with less orders to fulfill.
Within a month, the company let go the four employees with the lowest
bonus scores, who had long been the weakest performers and had dragged
the entire team down. Now, the company no longer needed them, as the rest
of the crew had drastically increased their efficiency.
The most impressive thing about this improvement in performance was
that it did not come from a major process change or an advance in
technology. Instead, it came through a leadership principle that has been
around for ages: Simple.
“Frogman on the roof,” was the radio call that let friendly forces know SEALs were on the high
ground. Here, SEAL machine gunner Marc Lee engages insurgents with lethal machine gun fire as
another SEAL assesses the situation and a SEAL grenadier scans for targets.
(Photo courtesy of Michael Fumento)
CHAPTER 7
Prioritize and Execute
Leif Babin
SOUTH-CENTRAL RAMADI, IRAQ: THE HORNET’S NEST
All day, murderous bursts of machine gun fire hammered our position,
shattering windows and impacting interior walls, each round with the
violence and kinetic energy of a sledgehammer wielded at full force. Some
of the incoming rounds were armor-piercing and punched through the thick
concrete of the low wall surrounding the rooftop. All our element of
SEALs, EOD bomb technicians and Iraqi soldiers could do under such
accurate enemy fire was hit the deck and try not to get our heads shot off.
Rounds snapped inches above us, and shards of glass and concrete
fragments rained down everywhere.
“Damn! Some of these bastards can shoot!” yelled a SEAL operator
pressed as close to the floor as humanly possible. We couldn’t help but
laugh at our predicament.
RPG-7 rockets followed in rapid sequence of three or four, exploding
with tremendous concussion against the exterior walls. Hunkered down
inside the building, we were separated from the bone-jarring explosions and
deadly shrapnel by a foot or so of concrete. One errant RPG rocket missed
its mark and sailed high over the building, trailing across the hazy,
cloudless Iraqi summer sky like a bottle rocket on an American Fourth of
July. But if just one of those rockets impacted a window, it meant red-hot
fragments of jagged metal ripping through just about every man in the
room.
Despite the onslaught, we held our position in the large four-story
apartment building. When the fury of the attack subsided, our SEAL snipers
returned fire with devastating effect. As armed enemy fighters maneuvered
through the streets to attack, SEAL snipers squeezed off round after round
with deadly accuracy, confirming ten enemy fighters killed and a handful
more probable kills.
As the platoon commander, in charge of the entire element, I made my
way from room to room on each floor to get a status check and make sure
none of our guys were hit. Gathering information on our snipers’
engagements, I passed situational reports over the radio to the U.S. Army’s
TOC in the distant friendly combat outpost.
“You guys good?” I asked, ducking into a room with SEAL snipers and
machine gunners manning positions, while others took a break.
“Good to go,” came the response.
In another room, I checked in with our SEAL platoon chief. Just then,
enemy fire poured through the windows bracketing his position as he
pressed against the corner wall. He laughed and gave me a thumbs-up.
Chief was a badass. SEAL machine gunners came looking for work, and we
directed their fire at the enemy’s location; the gunners quickly hammered
the enemy position with an accurate barrage of 7.62mm link.
One SEAL gunner, Ryan Job, eagerly employed his big machine gun
with deadly accuracy. He fearlessly stood in the window braving incoming
enemy rounds as he unleashed three to five round bursts of his own into
insurgent positions. A group of armed insurgents tried to sneak up even
closer to us using the concealment of a sheep pen to hide their movement.
Ryan hammered them and beat back their attempt before it could even
materialize. The sheep in the pen took some casualties in the crossfire.
“Damn,” I told him. “Those sheep just took heavies.”
“They were muj sheep,” Ryan laughed.
I lobbed several 40 mm high-explosive grenades at a doorway where
Chief had seen enemy fighters engaging us. Whoomph! sounded the
explosion, as one round landed right inside the doorway with a fiery blast.
That should keep their heads down for a little while at least.
Long before dawn broke that morning, before the day’s first call to
prayer echoed from the minaret speakers of the many mosques across
South-Central Ramadi, our group of Charlie Platoon SEALs, our EOD
operators (who were very much a part of our platoon), an interpreter, and
Iraqi soldiers had stealthily foot-patrolled under the cover of darkness
through the dusty, rubble-strewn streets. We had “BTF’ed in,” as our chief
called it. BTF stood for “Big Tough Frogman,” an unofficial mantra
adopted by Charlie Platoon. BTF entailed taking on substantial physical
exertion and great risk and persevering by simply being a Big Tough
Frogman. Pushing deep inside enemy territory was a BTF evolution. We
knew it likely meant a gunfight was in store for us—what chief called a
“Big Mix-It-Up.” Our routine for most of these operations, in chief’s
terminology, was this: “BTF in, Big Mix-It-Up, BTF out.” Then, once back
on base, we’d hit the mess hall for “Big Chow.”
We had patrolled out of COP Falcon in the early morning darkness
through the densely packed urban neighborhood of two-story houses,
adjoining compound walls, and heavy-duty metal gates. We “BTF’ed in” on
foot for about 1.5 kilometers, carrying our heavy gear and substantial
firepower, into another violent, enemy-held neighborhood of the city—an
area firmly in the grasp of a brutal insurgency. Driven back from the areas
to the east and the west, enemy fighters chose to stand and fight for this
dirty patch of ground in the city’s geographic center. We took position in a
building just up the street from a mosque that frequently rallied the call to
jihad from its minaret speakers to the hundreds of well-armed muj that
occupied this area.
Not long before, off this very street, a large force of enemy fighters had
attacked a squad of U.S. Marines and pinned them down for several hours
before they could evacuate their wounded. Two weeks before, only a half
block to the south, that street witnessed the destruction of a heavily armored
U.S. mine-clearance vehicle by the massive blast of an IED. Nearly a dozen
American tanks and armored vehicles had been destroyed in this section of
the city. The “vehicle graveyard” back at Camp Ramadi became the final
resting place for their charred wreckage. The burned-out hulks of
blackened, twisted metal stood as a stark reminder of the intensity of
violence in the streets and the many wounded and killed.
Our SEAL platoon had chosen this particular building for its
commanding views of the area. Most important, it was right in the enemy’s
backyard. Here, insurgent fighters had enjoyed complete safe haven and
freedom of movement. The frequent and intense onslaught of enemy
machine gun fire and RPG rockets now served as a testament that our
presence here was most unwelcome.
We had stirred up a hornet’s nest, but it was exactly where we wanted to
be. Our plan: go where the bad guys would least expect us in order to
seriously disrupt their program, kill as many enemy fighters as we could,
and decrease their ability to attack nearby U.S. Army and Marine combat
outposts. We wanted the enemy to know that they no longer could enjoy
safe haven here. This neighborhood was no longer theirs. We owned this
ground.
Pushing this far into enemy territory carried tremendous risks. Though
the nearest U.S. combat outpost was not more than 1.5 kilometers or so in a
straight-line distance from our position, the extreme IED threat and heavy
enemy presence could render any support we needed from tanks or armored
vehicles extremely hazardous and difficult, if not impossible. Although our
Army brethren would come to our aid if we called, we knew we would be
putting them at great risk to do so. It was a tactic we had learned from the
U.S. Marine companies stationed along the main route through the city:
unless we had an urgent casualty, we would hold our position hunkered
down right where we were. We would not call in vehicles or additional
troops and put them at risk unless we took serious casualties and absolutely
needed them.
The apartment building our SEAL platoon now occupied provided an
excellent tactical position. With a higher vantage point above the buildings
around us, its thick concrete walls provided some protection from enemy
fire. There was only one problem: the building had only one entrance and
exit from the second story—a narrow stairway leading down to the street.
There was no way of watching the entrance or the street surrounding it
during daylight without exposure to enemy fire. This meant the enemy
could possibly emplace IEDs near the entrance while we were inside and
detonate them on us as we exited. We had heard stories of how this had
happened to a Marine sniper team and other American units during our tour.
To counter the threat, my chief and I considered occupying a house across
the street that would allow us to watch the entrance. But we didn’t have the
manpower. With no viable alternative, it was a vulnerability we were forced
to accept. To mitigate the risk of an IED being planted at the doorstep, the
EOD operators studied the area in detail around the exit door and planned a
meticulous sweep for explosives prior to our anticipated departure later that
night.
The onslaught of heavy enemy fire continued frequently throughout the
day, with periods of intense violence and periods of calm. Enemy fighters
attacked from multiple directions, and SEAL snipers engaged and killed
many of them. Our SEAL machine gunners returned fire into enemy
positions with devastating effect. Other SEALs fired LAAW (light antiarmor weapon) rockets and 40mm grenades at enemy fighters hiding behind
concrete walls. Even the Iraqi soldiers, typically far more focused on selfpreservation, joined in the fight and returned fire with their AK-47s and
PKC belt-fed machine guns. As the day faded and the sun dipped below the
horizon, the attacks diminished. Gunfire and explosions subsided. With the
darkness an eerie quiet descended upon Ramadi, broken only by the
evening call to prayer that echoed across the dusty rooftops.
Our SEAL platoon and Iraqi soldiers packed our gear and prepared to
depart. Remembering the vulnerability of the single exit to the street, our
two EOD bomb technicians went to work. Peering over the second story
balcony through their night-vision goggles they scanned the area around the
exit door and the surrounding street littered with trash and potholes, in some
places scarred by the craters of previous IED blasts. But something was out
of place; something looked different than when they had scanned the area in
the early morning darkness before dawn. An otherwise unobtrusive item lay
against the building wall only feet from the exit door, covered with a plastic
tarp. Just a tiny sliver of a smooth, cylindrical object peeked out from under
the edge of the tarp.
“Something looks suspicious,” an EOD operator relayed to me. It was
most unwelcome news, as the stairway to the street was our only easy
means of departure.
I called a huddle with chief, our leading petty officer (LPO), and our
platoon junior officers. “We need to figure another way out of here,” I said.
That was no easy task.
From the second story, three sides of the building offered a near-twentyfoot drop from a window or balcony straight down to the street. We had no
rope. Jumping with all our gear and heavy equipment was likely to result in
serious injury, and that same street had at least one explosive device. We
had to assume there were more.
Somebody suggested a children’s cartoon prison escape method: “What
if we tie bed sheets together and climbed down from the third-story
windows onto the rooftop next door?” It was a harebrained idea, but under
the circumstances, an option that had to be seriously considered.
The fourth and remaining wall of the second story was solid concrete
with no windows, doors, or openings. We certainly couldn’t go around it or
over it. But we could go through it.
“Looks like it’s time to BTF,” said the LPO. It meant we were about to
tackle another serious feat of strength and toughness that would challenge
us to our physical limits. But Charlie Platoon took great pride in
accomplishing such feats. “Let’s get our sledgehammer on!”
We always carried a sledgehammer with us to make entry through
locked doors and windows when necessary. The LPO called for the
“sledge” and went to work. He began swinging the hammer with full force
against the concrete wall, each swing impacted with a loud, head-jarring
THWACK! He and a handful of other SEALs rotated every few minutes as
they hammered through the thick wall. It was painfully slow, back-breaking
work. We needed a hole big enough for operators with rucksacks and heavy
gear to walk through onto the flat rooftop of the one-story building next
door.
In the meantime, our EOD operators carefully went to work on the IED
planted at our doorstep. Through meticulous investigation, they uncovered
two 130mm rocket projectiles whose nose cones were packed with Semtex,
a plastic explosive. Had they not discovered the device—and had we
triggered it—the massive explosion and deadly shrapnel could have wiped
out half our platoon. We couldn’t leave this IED here to kill other U.S.
Soldiers, Marines, or innocent Iraqi civilians. So EOD carefully set their
own explosive charge on it to set it off (or “blow it in place”) where it lay.
Once prepared, the EOD operators notified me and waited for the command
to “pop smoke” and ignite the time fuse that would initiate the charge.
After a solid twenty minutes of furious sledgehammering, the LPO and
his rotating crew of BTF SEALs finally broke through the concrete wall.
They were winded and sweating profusely in the sweltering heat, but we
now had an alternate exit that would enable us to circumvent the IED threat.
Everyone double-checked their gear to ensure we left nothing behind,
then we lined up next to the jagged hole in the wall and made ready to exit
the building.
“Stand by to break out,” I said over the intersquad radio. SEALs and
Iraqi soldiers shouldered their rucksacks. “Pop smoke,” I passed to the
waiting EOD techs. One popped smoke while the other started a stopwatch
that counted down to detonation. We now had only a few minutes to get
everyone to a safe distance from what would be a significant blast. Swiftly,
we pushed through the jagged hole in the concrete and onto the flat, dusty
rooftop of the adjacent building. SEAL shooters fanned out, scanning for
threats, weapons trained on the darkened windows and rooftops of the
higher buildings surrounding us. Tactically, this was a hell of a bad position:
a wide-open rooftop with no cover, surrounded by higher buildings all
around, deep in the enemy’s backyard after having taken heavy fire all day.
“We need a head count; make sure we got everybody,” I said to the
LPO. The LPO had already positioned himself for this and was making it
happen. Suddenly, a SEAL moving along the edge of the rooftop just steps
ahead of me crashed through the roof and fell twenty feet to the ground,
landing hard with a loud smack on the concrete.
Holy shit! I thought, standing just behind him. This was crazy. What had
appeared in the darkness to be the edge of the rooftop was actually only a
plastic tarp covered with dust. In an instant, things had spiraled into
mayhem.
The SEAL lay on the ground groaning in pain. We called down to him
and tried to contact him via his radio.
“Hey, you alright?” I asked him. There was no response. The SEALs up
ahead immediately tried to find a way down to him, but the door to the only
stairway leading down from the rooftop was blocked by a gate of heavy
iron bars, chained and locked.
This was bad. Dreadfully exposed on a wide-open rooftop with no
cover, we were completely surrounded by higher, tactically superior
positions in the heart of an extremely dangerous, enemy-controlled area.
Large numbers of enemy fighters had total freedom of movement here, had
attacked us throughout the day, and knew our location. Even worse, the
clock was ticking on an explosive charge that would set off a huge IED
blast, throwing deadly metal fragments (or “frag”) in all directions. Our
SEAL element did not yet have a full head count to ensure all our personnel
were out of the building. And now, one of our SEALs lay helplessly alone
and unable to defend himself on the most dangerous street of the nastiest,
enemy-held area in Ramadi and we couldn’t get to him. His neck or back
might be broken. His skull could be fractured. We had to get a SEAL
corpsman—our combat medic—to him immediately. But we could not even
reach him without breaking through a locked iron gate to get to the street
below. The massive pressure of the situation bore down on me. This was a
hell of a dilemma, one that could overwhelm even the most competent
leader. How could we possibly tackle so many problems at once?
Prioritize and Execute. Even the greatest of battlefield leaders could not
handle an array of challenges simultaneously without being overwhelmed.
That risked failing at them all. I had to remain calm, step back from my
immediate emotional reaction, and determine the greatest priority for the
team. Then, rapidly direct the team to attack that priority. Once the wheels
were in motion and the full resources of the team were engaged in that
highest priority effort, I could then determine the next priority, focus the
team’s effort there, and then move on to the next priority. I could not allow
myself to be overwhelmed. I had to relax, look around, and make a call.
That was what Prioritize and Execute was all about.
Through dozens of intense training scenarios throughout the previous
year, our SEAL platoon and task unit had rehearsed in chaotic and difficult
situations. That training was designed to overwhelm us, to push us far
outside our comfort zone, and force us to make critical decisions under
pressure. Amid the noise, mayhem, and uncertainty of the outcome, we had
practiced the ability to remain calm, step back from the situation mentally,
assess the scenario, decide what had to be done, and make a call. We had
learned to Prioritize and Execute. This process was not intuitive to most
people but could be learned, built upon, and greatly enhanced through many
iterations of training.
Here, I recognized our highest priority, and I gave the broad guidance to
execute on that priority with a simple command: “Set security!” Though I,
like everyone else in our platoon, wanted desperately to help our wounded
man lying in the street below, the best way for us to do that was by
occupying the strongest tactical position to defend ourselves. With threats
all around and above us, we needed SEAL shooters in covering positions
with weapons ready to engage any enemy threat to the men on the exposed
rooftop, those SEALs and others still exiting the building, and the wounded
man lying helpless in the street below.
Chief immediately stepped in and started directing shooters flowing
through the hole in the wall and onto the rooftop. “Give me some guns over
here!” he shouted.
Within moments, we had weapons, and in particular machine gunners,
in key covering positions and had security set.
Second, the next priority: find a way down to get everyone off the
exposed rooftop and get to our wounded man. To accomplish this, the
SEALs up front needed a SEAL breacher to break through the locked iron
gate to a stairwell that led down to the street. All the training had imparted
the instinct of Prioritize and Execute on the whole platoon. The entire team
would simultaneously assess problems, figure out which one was most
important with minimal direction from me, and handle it before moving on
to the next priority problem. And the SEALs up front who could see the
locked gate got the job done with no direction needed. With a simple
“breacher up” call, a breacher quickly moved forward and went to work on
the gate to break through.
Third, the next priority: ensure a full head count of all personnel and
confirm they had exited the building to a safe distance from the imminent
explosion.
“Head count,” I called to the LPO. Despite the immediate chaos around
him, our LPO remained calm, stayed focused, and ensured a proper head
count of every single person exiting the building.
Within moments, he let me know: “We’re up,” said the LPO. Everyone
was out of the building, which included the operator who had fallen to the
street. It was welcome news.
In less than a minute, the SEAL breacher broke through the locked gate.
Now, we had a way down to our wounded man and we could all get the hell
off the exposed rooftop. If we got shot at here, with no cover, we would
take substantial casualties.
“Let’s move,” I urged, as the voice of our chief joined in to assist in this
effort, directing shooters to fall back to the stairwell down and keeping
shooters with guns up to cover other SEALs as they descended to the street.
SEAL shooters rushed down to the street below and set security there with
weapons pointed up and down the street. Then others moved to recover the
down man. With that, our entire element followed suit down the stairway
and out onto the street. Once down, we moved out quickly to a safe distance
from the impending IED blast. There, we halted briefly to double-check our
head count to ensure no one was left behind. Fire team leaders reported to
squad leaders, who reported to our LPO, who reported to me: “We’re up.”
In only minutes from the time we exited the building, our SEAL platoon,
EOD, and Iraqi soldiers moved out on foot to safety with a full head count.
BOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!!! The deep concussion of the massive blast
and huge fireball lit up the night and rained frag down for a full city block
in all directions.
It was our EOD technician’s explosive charge that set off the IED, right
on time with their stopwatch. The terrific concussion shattered the stillness
of the night. IEDs were devastating—and deadly. But no American or Iraqi
troops would be wounded or killed by that particular one, thank God.
Luckily, the SEAL operator who had fallen through the roof had landed on
his rucksack, which helped break his fall. He was shaken up, with a nasty
laceration on his elbow, but was otherwise OK. Upon our return to base, the
docs sewed him up, and he was soon out with us again on the next
operation.
PRINCIPLE
On the battlefield, countless problems compound in a snowball effect, every
challenge complex in its own right, each demanding attention. But a leader
must remain calm and make the best decisions possible. To do this, SEAL
combat leaders utilize Prioritize and Execute. We verbalize this principle
with this direction: “Relax, look around, make a call.”
Even the most competent of leaders can be overwhelmed if they try to
tackle multiple problems or a number of tasks simultaneously. The team
will likely fail at each of those tasks. Instead, leaders must determine the
highest priority task and execute. When overwhelmed, fall back upon this
principle: Prioritize and Execute.
Multiple problems and high-pressure, high-stakes environments are not
exclusive to combat. They occur in many facets of life and particularly in
business. Business decisions may lack the immediacy of life and death, but
the pressures on business leaders are still intense. The success or failure of
the team, the department, the company, the financial capital of investors,
careers, and livelihoods are at stake. These pressures produce stress and
demand decisions that often require rapid execution. Such decision making
for leaders can be overwhelming.
A particularly effective means to help Prioritize and Execute under
pressure is to stay at least a step or two ahead of real-time problems.
Through careful contingency planning, a leader can anticipate likely
challenges that could arise during execution and map out an effective
response to those challenges before they happen. That leader and his or her
team are far more likely to win. Staying ahead of the curve prevents a
leader from being overwhelmed when pressure is applied and enables
greater decisiveness. If the team has been briefed and understands what
actions to take through such likely contingencies, the team can then rapidly
execute when those problems arise, even without specific direction from
leaders. This is a critical characteristic of any high-performance, winning
team in any business or industry. It also enables effective Decentralized
Command (chapter 8).
When confronted with the enormity of operational plans and the
intricate microterrain within those plans, it becomes easy to get lost in the
details, to become sidetracked or lose focus on the bigger effort. It is
crucial, particularly for leaders at the top of the organization, to “pull
themselves off the firing line,” step back, and maintain the strategic picture.
This is essential to help correctly prioritize for the team. With this
perspective, it becomes far easier to determine the highest priority effort
and focus all energies toward its execution. Then senior leaders must help
subordinate team leaders within their team prioritize their efforts.
Just as in combat, priorities can rapidly shift and change. When this
happens, communication of that shift to the rest of the team, both up and
down the chain of command, is critical. Teams must be careful to avoid
target fixation on a single issue. They cannot fail to recognize when the
highest priority task shifts to something else. The team must maintain the
ability to quickly reprioritize efforts and rapidly adapt to a constantly
changing battlefield.
To implement Prioritize and Execute in any business, team, or
organization, a leader must:
• evaluate the highest priority problem.
• lay out in simple, clear, and concise terms the highest priority
effort for your team.
• develop and determine a solution, seek input from key leaders and
from the team where possible.
• direct the execution of that solution, focusing all efforts and
resources toward this priority task.
• move on to the next highest priority problem. Repeat.
• when priorities shift within the team, pass situational awareness
both up and down the chain.
• don’t let the focus on one priority cause target fixation. Maintain
the ability to see other problems developing and rapidly shift as
needed.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
Jocko Willink
There was only one major problem: the company was losing money.
Through years as a profitable player in the pharmaceutical industry, the
company experienced several phases of expansion. All seemed well, but
recently revenues had taken a slight downward trend. At first, that trend
could be blamed on “market conditions” or “seasonal discrepancies,” but
when the downward trend continued, it was clear that the lower revenues
had metastasized from temporary setback to the new reality.
The CEO of this pharmaceutical company brought me in for leadership
training and consultation. The CEO and his executives prepared a “State of
the Company” brief that detailed the company’s strategic vision in order to
improve performance. The brief included multiple sections, each with a
number of tasks and projects embedded within.
He sat me down and ran through the brief so I could get a feel for what
they were doing. It contained a plethora of new initiatives, each with its
own set of challenges. First, the CEO planned to launch several lines of new
product, each with its own marketing plan. With the aim of expansion, the
CEO hoped to establish distribution centers in a dozen new markets in the
next eighteen to twenty-four months. Additionally, he planned to break into
the laboratory-equipment market, which he hoped to sell through their
access to doctors and hospitals. The CEO also discussed a new training
program designed to educate managers and improve their effectiveness as
leaders. Additionally, the company planned a complete Web site overhaul to
update their antiquated site and improve customer experience and branding.
Finally, with the aim to improve sales, the CEO also planned to restructure
the company’s sales force and compensation plan. This entailed an activitymanagement system that would more efficiently focus the sales force on
income-producing activities and reduce wasted time and effort. The CEO
went into great detail through a multitude of very impressive sounding
plans. He was clearly passionate about the company and excited to
implement this array of new initiatives to get the company back on track. At
the end of the brief, the CEO asked if I had any questions.
“Have you ever heard the military term ‘decisively engaged’?” I asked.
“No, I haven’t. I was never in the military,” the CEO replied with a
smile.
“Decisively engaged,” I continued, “is a term used to describe a battle in
which a unit locked in a tough combat situation cannot maneuver or
extricate themselves. In other words, they cannot retreat. They must win.
With all your new initiatives, I would say you have a hell of a lot of battles
going on,” I observed.
“Absolutely. We are spread pretty thin,” the CEO acknowledged,
wondering where this was going.
“Of all the initiatives, which one do you feel is the most important?” I
asked. “Which one is your highest priority?”
“That’s easy,” the CEO quickly answered. “The activity management of
our sales force is the highest priority. We have to make sure our sales
people are engaged in the right activities. If they aren’t getting in front of
customers and selling our products, we will no longer be in business,” said
the CEO.
“With all that you have planned, do you think your team is clear that
this is your highest priority?” I asked.
“Probably not,” the CEO admitted.
“On the battlefield, if the guys on the front line face-to-face with the
enemy aren’t doing their jobs, nothing else matters. Defeat is inevitable,” I
replied. “With all your other efforts—all your other focuses—how much
actual attention is being given to ensuring your frontline salespeople are
doing the best job possible? How much of a difference would it make if you
and the entire company gave them one hundred percent of your attention for
the next few weeks or months?”
“It would probably make a huge difference,” the CEO admitted.
“As a SEAL, I often saw this with junior leaders on the battlefield,” I
continued. “With so much going on in the chaos and mayhem, they would
try to take on too many tasks at once. It never worked. I taught them to
Prioritize and Execute. Prioritize your problems and take care of them one
at a time, the highest priority first. Don’t try to do everything at once or you
won’t be successful.” I explained how a leader who tries to take on too
many problems simultaneously will likely fail at them all.
“What about all the other initiatives?” the CEO asked. “They will help
us as well.”
“I’m not saying to throw them away,” I replied. “They sound like great
initiatives that are definitely important. But you won’t move the needle on
them when you are spread so thin. My suggestion is to focus on one and
when that one is completed, or at least has some real momentum, then you
move on to the next one and focus on it. When that one is done, then move
on to the next, and so on down the line until you have knocked them all
out.”
“Makes sense,” the CEO replied. “I’ll give it a try.” He was eager to
turn the company’s performance around.
For the next several months the CEO focused the efforts of the entire
company on supporting the frontline sales force, making it clear that this
was the company’s highest priority. The labs set up tours for customers. The
marketing designers helped create new, informative pamphlets for products.
Sales managers set minimum marks for the number of introductory
meetings with doctors and medical administrators that the sales force had to
achieve each week. The company’s marketing team created online videos
interviewing their top salespeople on the most successful techniques so that
others could watch and learn. It was a full focus of effort on the highest
priority initiative to increasing the company’s business.
This focus on a singular initiative unified the efforts of the entire
company. Progress was seen quickly and gained momentum. The CEO
recognized the traction, and the effectiveness of the method: Prioritize and
Execute.
Sunrise over South-Central Ramadi. An M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicle provides cover for American
and Iraqi troops on the ground and a SEAL sniper overwatch out beyond the forward line of advance.
The morning call to prayer signaled daybreak in Ramadi, soon followed by vicious enemy attacks
that continued throughout the day.
(Photo courtesy of the authors)
CHAPTER 8
Decentralized Command
Jocko Willink
SOUTH-CENTRAL RAMADI, IRAQ: A RECKONING
“We’ve got armed enemy fighters on top of a building. Appear to be
snipers,” the radio blared. The concern and excitement in the American
Soldier’s voice relaying the information was evident.
This report was alarming and immediately struck a cord with everyone
on the radio net. Enemy snipers were deadly. While they could never
compare to the level of skill, training, and equipment that our own U.S.
military snipers possessed, the enemy certainly had some skilled marksmen
who inflicted substantial damage, regularly killing or wounding American
and Iraqi soldiers with accurate rifle shots.
Two different elements of our Task Unit Bruiser SEALs were out there
in enemy territory among a hostile insurgent force with friendly U.S. Army
troops moving into the area. My job was command and control of thirty
plus SEALs and their partner force of Iraqi soldiers, but I could only
manage this effectively through Decentralized Command. It was the only
way to operate.
* * *
On the battlefield, I expected my subordinate leaders to do just that: lead. I
had groomed and trained them—Leif and his fellow SEAL officers, their
platoon chiefs, and senior petty officers—to make decisions. I trusted that
their assessment of the situations they were in and their decisions would be
aggressive in pursuit of mission accomplishment, well thought out,
tactically sound, and would ultimately further our strategic mission. They
confirmed that trust over and over again throughout our months in Ramadi.
Leif and my other leaders were put in some of the worst situations
imaginable: enemy fire, confusion and chaos, friendly fire, and worst of all,
the pain and emotion of our brother SEALs wounded or killed. In each of
those situations, they led with authority and courage, making rapid,
sequential, life and death decisions in harrowing situations with limited
information. I trusted them.
They had earned that trust through many months of training, of getting it
wrong and learning from their mistakes as I watched them closely and
coached them in the leadership principles I had learned through fifteen
years in the SEAL Teams. Both of my platoon commanders were relatively
new to the Teams, but luckily, they were both eager to learn, eager to lead,
and most important, humble yet confident to command.
But once we were in Ramadi, I could no longer be with them to look
over their shoulders and guide them. I had to empower them to lead. After
seeing them evolve during our training cycle into bold, confident leaders, I
knew Leif in Charlie Platoon and his fellow platoon commander in Delta
Platoon would make the right decisions. And I knew they would ensure that
their subordinate leaders within each of their platoons would make the right
decisions. I unleashed them on the battlefield to execute with full
confidence in their leadership.
Pushing the decision making down to the subordinate, frontline leaders
within the task unit was critical to our success. This Decentralized
Command structure allowed me, as the commander, to maintain focus on
the bigger picture: coordinate friendly assets and monitor enemy activity.
Were I to get embroiled in the details of a tactical problem, there would be
no one else to fill my role and manage the strategic mission.
The proper understanding and utilization of Decentralized Command
takes time and effort to perfect. For any leader, placing full faith and trust in
junior leaders with less experience and allowing them to manage their
teams is a difficult thing to embrace. It requires tremendous trust and
confidence in those frontline leaders, who must very clearly understand the
strategic mission and ensure that their immediate tactical decisions
ultimately contribute to accomplishing the overarching goals. Frontline
leaders must also have trust and confidence in their senior leaders to know
that they are empowered to make decisions and that their senior leaders will
back them up.
* * *
This skill of Decentralized Command had not been magically bestowed
upon Task Unit Bruiser. It had come only through difficult preparation and
training, driven home during the months of effort before we deployed to
Iraq. We learned our greatest lessons in this during MOUT (military
operations, urban terrain) training at Fort Knox, Kentucky. There, under
intense pressure and extremely challenging scenarios, we learned how to
employ this tenet effectively in even the most chaotic scenarios.
The MOUT facility was a multiblock mock city of concrete structures,
ranging from simulated one-room houses to large and complex multistory
buildings built to prepare military units for the challenges of urban combat
—exactly the environment in which U.S. forces were then heavily engaged
in Iraq. The SEAL training detachment, or TRADET (which I would later
command), was tasked with preparing SEAL platoons and task units for
deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, and we knew they would put us
through the ringer. The TRADET instructor cadre constructed training
scenarios to confuse, disorient, physically and mentally stress and
overwhelm the participating SEAL units, particularly the leaders. The
instructor cadre would “mud-suck”1 us at every turn. Their role players
acting as “enemy forces” in the training scenarios often wouldn’t follow the
rules of play. Some SEALs scoffed at this, thinking the training was
unrealistically challenging, and accused TRADET of cheating.
I disagreed. The enemy we would face in Iraq had no rules. They didn’t
care about collateral damage. They didn’t care about fratricide or friendly
fire. Iraqi insurgents were experts at analyzing and exploiting our
weaknesses. They were brutal savages, and their method of operation was
to think of the most horrific, cowardly, and effective ways to kill us. So we
actually needed TRADET to do the same thing to us.
During the first few days of Task Unit Bruiser’s MOUT training, my
SEAL leaders tried to control everything and everyone themselves. They
tried to direct every maneuver, control every position, and personally
attempted to manage each one of their men—up to thirty-five individuals in
Task Unit Bruiser. It did not work. In a striking realization that military
units throughout history have come to understand by experience, it became
clear that no person had the cognitive capacity, the physical presence, or the
knowledge of everything happening across a complex battlefield to
effectively lead in such a manner. Instead, my leaders learned they must
rely on their subordinate leaders to take charge of their smaller teams within
the team and allow them to execute based on a good understanding of the
broader mission (known as Commander’s Intent), and standard operating
procedures. That was effective Decentralized Command.
So, we divided into small teams of four to six SEALs, a manageable
size for a leader to control. Each platoon commander didn’t worry about
controlling all sixteen SEAL operators assigned, only three: his squad
leaders and his platoon chief. Each platoon chief and leading petty officer
only had to control their fire team leaders, who each controlled four SEAL
shooters. And I only had to control two people—my two platoon
commanders.
Each leader was trusted to lead and guide his team in support of the
overall mission. Those junior leaders learned that they were expected to
make decisions. They couldn’t ask, “What do I do?” Instead, they had to
state: “This is what I am going to do.” Since I made sure everyone
understood the overall intent of the mission, every leader worked and led
separately, but in a unified way that contributed to the overall mission,
making even the most chaotic scenarios much easier to handle.
* * *
When Task Unit Bruiser deployed to Ramadi, Iraq, Decentralized
Command played a crucial role in our success. We supported many largescale operations and participated in virtually every big push into Ramadi, as
coalition forces established footholds in enemy territory.
A few months into our deployment, we conducted our largest operation
yet. It included two different U.S. Army battalions, each with hundreds of
Soldiers, a U.S. Marine battalion, nearly one hundred armored vehicles on
the ground, and American aircraft in the skies overhead. Many of these
units operated on different communications networks, which greatly added
to the complexity and compounded the risk.
Our SEAL sniper teams would lead the way into the area of operations.
By occupying the high ground with the best visibility over the battlefield,
Task Unit Bruiser SEALs would gain substantial tactical advantage over the
enemy and protect other U.S. forces on the ground. But all this movement
could create chaos. My job was to provide command and control to
coordinate between my SEAL sniper overwatch teams from Charlie and
Delta Platoons and the U.S. Army and Marine Corps units.
This operation centered around a major north–south road that was
sandwiched between two notoriously violent neighborhoods—the Ma’laab
District, a war-torn neighborhood to the east, and to the west, the J-Block:
an American designation for an equally violent section of Central Ramadi.
In the Ma’laab, Task Unit Bruiser suffered our first casualty during the
initial weeks of our deployment. A young SEAL operator sustained a
gunshot wound from an enemy armor-piercing machine gun round, which
shattered his femur and ripped a massive hole in his leg. SEAL machine
gunner Mike Monsoor laid down suppressive fire and helped drag him out
of the street to safety. Luckily, the wounded SEAL survived and returned to
the States for a long road to recovery. The SEALs in Corregidor were in
firefights on an almost daily basis in the Ma’laab.
Leif and the SEALs of Charlie Platoon had been likewise heavily
engaged in constant gun battles with enemy fighters. In the J-Block, only a
couple of weeks prior, Ryan Job was shot in the face by an enemy sniper
and left blind. Later, on the same day Ryan was wounded, Marc Lee was
shot and killed just down the street in the J-Block from where Ryan had
been wounded. Marc was the first member of Task Unit Bruiser killed in
action and the first Navy SEAL killed in Iraq.
We were still reeling from those losses suffered during what was one of
the most furious battles that had taken place in Ramadi. Leif had also been
wounded, hit in the back with a round during the battle. Although injured, it
had not stopped him from continuing to lead during that operation. Nor had
it dulled his desire to hunt down the enemy and kill them.
It was no coincidence that our largest operation would take place in this
area. It was a reckoning.
The operation began as our SEALs, under cover of darkness, patrolled
on foot into position—Charlie Platoon from COP Falcon to the west, and
Delta Platoon from COP Eagle’s Nest to the east. They passed their
positions over the radio periodically so that I, staged with our Army
counterparts at COP Falcon, and other friendly forces could track their
movement.
Both Charlie and Delta Platoons had preselected locations for their
sniper overwatch positions based on careful map studies of the area. With
the greater strategic picture to coordinate, I had left this entirely up to them.
They also had full authority to shift locations if those preselected positions
weren’t adequate once they were on the ground. As they had been trained,
the senior leader of each SEAL sniper overwatch element made their
decisions based on the underlying commander’s guidance that drove our
overwatch operations:
1. Cover as many possible enemy ingress and egress routes as
possible.
2. Set up positions that mutually support each other.
3. Pick solid fighting positions that could be defended against heavy
enemy attack for an extended period of time if necessary.
With their lives and the lives of their men at risk, my platoon
commanders understood this guidance as well—perhaps even better than I.
Therefore, I did not need to spell it out for each operation; it was embedded
in their thoughts. With it, my frontline leaders were empowered to make the
tactical decisions during the operation. They were the ones who were on
scene to make the call while I was located over a kilometer away at COP
Falcon, tracking the mission alongside the U.S. Army commanders.
Sometimes, despite detailed map studies and planning, my frontline
leaders discovered that their preplanned locations were not viable. On
numerous occasions, our overwatch elements arrived at a building they had
planned to utilize only to realize that the building was set farther back from
the road than it appeared on the map or did not have optimal angles to cover
enemy routes and protect friendly positions. Other times, the building was
surrounded by “dead-space”—areas that would be difficult to see and
difficult to defend. Then it was up to the platoon leadership to select another
building that could best accomplish the mission.
Here, Decentralized Command was a necessity. In such situations, the
leaders did not call me and ask me what they should do. Instead, they told
me what they were going to do. I trusted them to make adjustments and
adapt the plan to unforeseen circumstances while staying within the
parameters of the guidance I had given them and our standard operating
procedures. I trusted them to lead. My ego took no offense to my
subordinate leaders on the frontlines calling the shots. In fact, I was proud
to follow their lead and support them. With my leaders running their teams
and handling the tactical decisions, it made my job much easier by enabling
me to focus on the bigger picture.
On this particular operation, Charlie Platoon’s preplanned position
worked well. But Delta Platoon realized that they could not utilize the
building they had planned to use. Delta’s platoon commander and his senior
platoon leadership scouted out another building that could work. The
commander radioed and told me his platoon would move across the street to
the other building, building 94.
I responded to him over the radio, “This is Jocko; I copy you want to
move to building 94. Do it.” Delta Platoon then immediately pushed this
information to the rest of the friendly forces, including the U.S. Army
battalion staff and company leadership with which I was co-located at COP
Falcon. I sat back and watched as their plan was relayed and ensured the
information was clear at higher headquarters. Once all friendly forces had
been notified, and Delta Platoon confirmed that, they initiated movement
into the newly selected building.
Building 94 proved to be a very good vantage point. One of the tallest
buildings in the area, at four stories in height, it had a clear view of the
major north–south road and of the location where the Army would soon
construct COP Grant, the new combat outpost. Building 94 was easily
defensible, and offered good firing positions that covered many potential
enemy routes in and out of the area.
Once Delta Platoon was in position, their radioman reported, “Building
94 secure. Overwatch positions set in the fourth story and on rooftop.”
“Copy,” I acknowledged.
The radioman then relayed that information to other units in the area,
and I confirmed that the other units understood the location of Delta’s new
position.
With Charlie and Delta Platoons now secured in their positions,
American troops flooded into the area. This stage of the mission left U.S.
forces highly vulnerable. With no permanent security yet in place, brave
Army engineers began building the COP, a construction project in a hostile
combat zone. Tensions rose in the streets and among the command-andcontrol element I was with back at COP Falcon. As friendly forces moved
in, reports of possible enemy movement came in over the radio nets: lights
came on in buildings, while in others, lights went out; vehicles started up,
departed driveways, and moved through the streets; a military-age male
maneuvered through the alleyways observing friendly troop movements. A
report described a possible enemy force of two to four military-age males
exiting a building and dispersing. Other men were seen talking on radios.
This was the most nerve-racking time—before the shooting started,
waiting with anxious anticipation for a fight to happen. Our SEALs and the
hundreds of U.S. troops in this operation had fought fierce battles with the
enemy in the bordering neighborhoods for the past several months. Much
American blood had been spilled, including the blood of our SEAL
brothers. Now it was only a matter of time before the enemy attacked,
which we expected would be ferocious.
Then, from a Bradley Fighting Vehicle equipped with thermal sight for
nighttime operations, the report came over the radio: “We’ve got armed
enemy fighters on top of a building. Appear to be snipers.”
A single enemy bullet had struck Ryan Job, severely wounding him,
leaving him blind, and eventually leading to his death. A young Marine
from 2nd ANGLICO, whom we frequently worked with, had been shot and
killed by a single rifle shot just a few weeks before. Many others had been
wounded or killed by a single round. Just as our snipers struck fear into the
hearts of our enemy, an enemy sniper was a nightmare scenario for us:
shooting accurately from unseen positions, inflicting casualties, and fading
away. So now this report across the net that enemy snipers had been spotted
caused everyone’s defenses to spike and escalated the tensions in their
trigger fingers.
Charlie and Delta Platoons, in their separate overwatch positions, heard
the report on their radios and were also amped up by the call. Perhaps one
or more of these enemy snipers were the culprits responsible for shooting
Ryan and our Marine comrade. Any one of our SEALs would gladly
eliminate the enemy snipers with lethal force. But despite the romantic
vision of a sniper-versus-sniper stalking and shooting match, our preferred
contest was a much more lopsided affair: enemy sniper versus the massive
firepower of a U.S. M1A2 Abrams Main Battle Tank. An enemy sniper
might barricade himself in a room behind sandbags and concrete. While this
made for a difficult rifle shot, it was no match for the tanks’ electronically
enhanced optics and giant 120mm smoothbore cannon fired from behind
the safety of heavy armor. We all hoped for a quick engagement by the
Bradley that had spotted the enemy sniper.
Of course, I wanted as much as anyone to see an enemy sniper or, even
better, multiple snipers eliminated. But this was a complex battlefield,
which could confuse and confound even the most experienced Soldiers and
SEALs. The fog of war in a chaotic urban environment grows thick rapidly
and could muddle even the most seemingly obvious situations.
The company commander (a U.S. Army captain) in charge of the
Bradley Fighting Vehicle that reported the enemy snipers was an
exceptional warrior and leader, whom our SEALs had come to deeply
respect and admire. He and his Soldiers were an outstanding group. We had
formed a tremendous bond with them through dozens of operations working
together. Our SEAL snipers supported their operations, and they in turn
responded continuously to our calls for help by rolling out in their tanks
down extremely dangerous, uncleared roads to bring firepower to bear and
provide evacuation of our SEAL casualties. Every time we called for help,
the company commander fearlessly placed himself and his men at great
risk. He personally saddled up and drove out in his tank to bring the thunder
on our behalf and beat back enemy attacks on SEAL positions. Now, the
company commander heard the report of enemy snipers. He responded over
his radio, “Give a description of the target.”
The Bradley’s vehicle commander answered: “Several military-age
males on a rooftop. They appear to have some heavy weapons, and some
have what appear to be sniper weapons with scopes.”
Monitoring the radio calls, I stood next to the company commander in
the makeshift TOC inside COP Falcon. Knowing I had SEAL snipers on the
rooftop near where the enemy was spotted, I quickly asked, “Find out what
building number they see the enemy in.” The company commander radioed
his Bradley commander for an exact position.
“Building 79,” replied the Bradley vehicle commander.
“Your guys aren’t in building 79, are they?” the company commander
asked me, just to be sure.
I looked at my battle map to coordinate the numbers I was hearing over
the net. I located building 79, just down the street from where Delta Platoon
was located, in building 94.
“Negative,” I replied to the captain. “I’ve got SEALs in building 94; not
in 79.”
“Alright. Let’s engage!” said the captain, fired up to take out some
enemy snipers. Every one of us was eager to hammer enemy fighters and
protect the U.S. troops on the ground in harm’s way. But we had to be sure.
“Stand by,” I said. “Let’s confirm what we have here.”
I keyed up my radio to talk to my SEALs on the less formal net that
only we utilized. I spoke directly to Delta’s platoon commander: “We have
some enemy activity in your vicinity, possible snipers; want to engage with
a Bradley main gun.2 I need you to confirm your position—one hundred
percent.”
“Roger,” he replied, “I have already triple-checked. Building direct to
our south is 91. South of that is the road. The roof of our building has an Lshaped room on the roof. You can see it on the battle map. I’m sitting in it.
It is confirmed: we are in building 94. One hundred percent. Over.”
I acknowledged the Delta Platoon commander’s transmission. Then, to
the company commander next to me, I said, “It’s confirmed, my guys are in
building 94.”
“Alright then, lets hammer these guys,” the company commander
replied.
“Hold on,” I said, checking one more time. “Let’s confirm what your
guys are seeing.”
“We have confirmed: enemy snipers on the rooftop of building 79,”
responded the company commander. “There are no other friendlies in that
building. We need to engage while we can.” He didn’t want to miss a
critical chance to take out enemy snipers.
I didn’t like the idea of delaying an opportunity to eliminate enemy
snipers any more than he did. But knowing the confusing chaos of the urban
battlefield and how easily mistakes can happen, I had to be certain.
“Do me a favor,” I asked the company commander. “Just to confirm,
have your Bradley vehicle commander count the number of buildings he
sees from the major intersection [where he was positioned] up to the
building where he has eyes on the enemy snipers.”
The company commander looked at me with a little frustration. If these
were indeed enemy snipers, they might target U.S. forces at any moment.
Allowing them to live even for a few more minutes meant they might very
well kill Americans.
“I just want to be sure,” I added. The company commander didn’t work
for me. I couldn’t order him to delay. But through multiple combat
operations together with our SEALs in this difficult environment, we had
developed a strong professional working relationship. He loved our SEALs
and appreciated the damage we inflicted on the enemy. He now trusted me
enough to comply with my request.
“OK,” he said. The company commander keyed up his radio and
instructed his Bradley vehicle commander: “For final confirmation, count
the number of buildings from the intersection where you’re located to the
building where you see the enemy snipers.”
The Bradley vehicle commander paused at this, likely wondering why
he was being asked to do this while enemy snipers waited to attack. But he
did as directed, replying on the radio, “Roger that. Stand by.”
It should have taken no more than fifteen seconds to count the buildings
up the block to the target building, but the silence over the radio was longer
—too long.
Finally, the radio silence broke: “Correction: The suspected enemy
position is Building 94. I say again, 94. I counted the buildings up the
block. We misjudged the distance. Over.”
“Hold your fire!” the company commander quickly said with authority
over his battalion net, recognizing that the “enemy” reported in building 94
were really friendlies. “All stations: Hold your fire. Personnel in building
94 are friendly. I say again, building 94 is a friendly position. We have
SEAL snipers on the roof of that building.”
“Roger,” said the Bradley vehicle commander in a solemn tone,
recognizing his mistake had almost caused fratricide.
“Roger,” answered the captain. Alarmed at how easily such a mistake
could happen and acknowledging how deadly and devastating it could have
been, the company commander looked at me and said heavily, “That was a
close one.”
Without formal street signs or numbers—with confusing intersections
and alleyways—such a mix-up was something that could easily happen. But
had they engaged, it would have been horrific. The 25mm heavy gun from
the Bradley fired high explosive rounds that would have ripped through the
rooftop, likely killing or wounding multiple SEALs in that position.
Thankfully, our troop operated under Decentralized Command. My
platoon commanders didn’t just tell me what the situation was, but what
they were going to do to fix it. That sort of Extreme Ownership and
leadership from my subordinate leaders not only allowed them to lead
confidently, but also allowed me to focus on the bigger picture—in this
case, monitoring the actions of coordinating units in this dynamic
environment. Had I been engulfed in trying to lead and direct Charlie and
Delta Platoons’ tactical decisions from my distant position, I may very well
have missed the other events unfolding. This could have had catastrophic
results.
Instead, Decentralized Command worked and enabled us, as a team, to
effectively manage risk, prevent disaster, and accomplish our mission.
Soon, the real enemy fighters struck with violent attacks to protect “their”
territory along the central north–south street. But our enemy’s enthusiasm
was extinguished quickly when SEAL snipers and machine gunners killed
them in the very streets they aimed to defend. Decentralized Command
enabled us to operate effectively on a challenging battlefield and support
our U.S. Army comrades to construct the new combat outpost and ensure
more Soldiers came home safely. Ultimately, this furthered the strategic
mission to stabilize Ramadi and secure the populace, which would prove
highly successful over the coming months.
PRINCIPLE
Human beings are generally not capable of managing more than six to ten
people, particularly when things go sideways and inevitable contingencies
arise. No one senior leader can be expected to manage dozens of
individuals, much less hundreds. Teams must be broken down into
manageable elements of four to five operators, with a clearly designated
leader. Those leaders must understand the overall mission, and the ultimate
goal of that mission—the Commander’s Intent. Junior leaders must be
empowered to make decisions on key tasks necessary to accomplish that
mission in the most effective and efficient manner possible. Teams within
teams are organized for maximum effectiveness for a particular mission,
with leaders who have clearly delineated responsibilities. Every tacticallevel team leader must understand not just what to do but why they are
doing it. If frontline leaders do not understand why, they must ask their boss
to clarify the why. This ties in very closely with Believe (chapter 3).
Decentralized Command does not mean junior leaders or team members
operate on their own program; that results in chaos. Instead, junior leaders
must fully understand what is within their decision-making authority—the
“left and right limits” of their responsibility. Additionally, they must
communicate with senior leaders to recommend decisions outside their
authority and pass critical information up the chain so the senior leadership
can make informed strategic decisions. SEAL leaders on the battlefield are
expected to figure out what needs to be done and do it—to tell higher
authority what they plan to do, rather than ask, “What do you want me to
do?” Junior leaders must be proactive rather than reactive.
To be effectively empowered to make decisions, it is imperative that
frontline leaders execute with confidence. Tactical leaders must be
confident that they clearly understand the strategic mission and
Commander’s Intent. They must have implicit trust that their senior leaders
will back their decisions. Without this trust, junior leaders cannot
confidently execute, which means they cannot exercise effective
Decentralized Command. To ensure this is the case, senior leaders must
constantly communicate and push information—what we call in the military
“situational awareness”—to their subordinate leaders. Likewise, junior
leaders must push situational awareness up the chain to their senior leaders
to keep them informed, particularly of crucial information that affects
strategic decision making.
With SEAL Teams—just as with any team in the business world—there
are leaders who try to take on too much themselves. When this occurs,
operations can quickly dissolve into chaos. The fix is to empower frontline
leaders through Decentralized Command and ensure they are running their
teams to support the overall mission, without micromanagement from the
top.
There are, likewise, other senior leaders who are so far removed from
the troops executing on the frontline that they become ineffective. These
leaders might give the appearance of control, but they actually have no idea
what their troops are doing and cannot effectively direct their teams. We
call this trait “battlefield aloofness.” This attitude creates a significant
disconnect between leadership and the troops, and such a leader’s team will
struggle to effectively accomplish their mission.
Determining how much leaders should be involved and where leaders
can best position themselves to command and control the team is key. When
SEAL task units train in assaults—in what we call close-quarters battle, or
CQB—we practice this in a “kill house.” A kill house is a multiroom
facility with ballistic walls, which SEALs, other military, and police units
use to rehearse their CQB skills. For young SEAL officers learning the
ropes of leadership, running through the kill house with the platoon
provides a great training opportunity to determine how much they should be
involved and where to position themselves. Sometimes, the officer gets so
far forward that he gets sucked into every room clearance, meaning he is
continually entering rooms and engaging targets. When that happens, he
gets focused on the minutia of what’s going on in the immediate room and
loses situational awareness of what is happening with the rest of the team
and can no longer provide effective command and control. Other times, the
officer gets stuck in the back of the train, on cleanup duty. When that
happens, he is too far in the rear to know what is happening up front and
can’t direct his assault force. I advised many officers that the right amount
of involvement—the proper position for them—was somewhere in the
middle, generally with the bulk of their force: not so far forward that they
get sucked into every room clearance, but not so far back that they don’t
know what is going on up front. Contrary to a common misconception,
leaders are not stuck in any particular position. Leaders must be free to
move to where they are most needed, which changes throughout the course
of an operation. Understanding proper positioning as a leader is a key
component of effective Decentralized Command, not just on the battlefield.
In any team, business, or organization, the same rule applies.
The effectiveness of Decentralized Command is critical to the success of
any team in any industry. In chaotic, dynamic, and rapidly changing
environments, leaders at all levels must be empowered to make decisions.
Decentralized Command is a key component to victory.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
“Can I take a look at your org chart?” I asked the regional president of an
investment advisor group. The “org chart” depicted his team’s
organizational structure and chain of command. Responsible for dozens of
branches and over a thousand employees, the president was smart and
driven. He didn’t have a great deal of leadership confidence, though he
seemed eager to learn.
“We don’t really have one that is current,” the president responded. “I
like to hold that information close. If it gets out and people see it, they
might get upset that they actually report to someone they see as one of their
peers. I’ve had to deal with this before.”
“So how do they know who is in charge?” I asked. “Without a clear
chain of command—people knowing who is in charge of what—you cannot
have empowered leadership. And that is critical to the success of any team,
including the SEAL Teams or your company here.”
“Let me pull up what we have,” said the president.
He opened a document on his computer and swung an organizational
chart onto the large plasma screen on the wall of the conference room.
I stood up and took a look. The team for which he was responsible was
a region of substantial size and breadth. There were branches spread across
a huge geographic area of the United States. But there was something that
stood out to me. The org chart lacked uniformity and seemed disorganized.
“What’s this here?” I asked, as I pointed to a location that listed twentytwo people who worked there.
“That’s a branch,” the president answered.
“And who leads all those people?” I asked.
“The branch manager,” he responded.
“He leads all twenty-one of those people? They all report to him?” I
inquired.
“Yes, he is in charge of them all,” said the president.
I looked at another area on the org chart. I tapped another office
location, this one with three people in it. “And what is this here?” I asked.
“That is also a branch,” the president replied.
“Who leads these people?” I asked again.
“The branch manager,” he said.
“He leads two people?” I asked.
“That’s right,” said the president.
“So one branch manager leads twenty-one people, and the other branch
manager leads two people?” I clarified.
“Yeah … a little strange, but it makes sense on the ground,” the
president offered.
“How?” I asked. If it wasn’t clear to me looking at the org chart, I knew
it was highly likely that it didn’t make sense to the frontline troops that
were out there executing the company’s mission.
“Well, the bigger branches have more people because they are more
successful, and they generally have a stronger manager. Because he or she
is effective, the branch grows and requires more employees, which
increases the number of direct reports. Over time some branches can get
pretty big,” the president explained.
“What happens to the efficiency of the branch when they grow?” I
asked.
“You know, honestly, once a branch reaches a certain size, rapid growth
slows,” he admitted. “The branch manager usually just focuses on the best
performers, and the rest kind of get lost in the shuffle of day-to-day
business. Over time, most of these branch managers seem to lose track of
the bigger picture of what we are trying to do and where we are
strategically trying to grow.”
“And what about the smaller branches?” I asked. “Why do they not
grow?”
“Surprisingly, it is for a similar reason,” he replied. “When a branch
only has a couple people in it, there isn’t enough revenue for the branch
manager to really make money. So those managers are forced to personally
generate business themselves. When they are in the field selling, they
generally don’t have time to focus on leadership and management of their
teams and they lose track of the bigger picture—building and growing.”
“So what would you say the ideal size would be for a team or branch in
your company?” I asked.
“Probably five or six, four or five financial advisors and support
people,” answered the president.
“That makes perfect sense,” I said. “The SEAL Teams and the U.S.
military, much like militaries throughout history, are based around building
blocks of four-to-six-man teams with a leader. We call them ‘fire teams.’
That is the ideal number for a leader to lead. Beyond that, any leader can
lose control as soon as even minimal pressure is applied to the team when
inevitable challenges arise.”
“So how do you lead larger teams on the battlefield?” asked the
president with genuine curiosity.
“Sometimes for our units, we can operate with as many as one hundred
fifty personnel on a particular operation,” I answered. “While we might
only have fifteen or twenty SEALs, when you tack on Iraqi soldiers and
mutually supporting troops from the U.S. Army or Marine Corps, our ranks
could easily grow to over a hundred or a hundred and fifty,” I explained.
“But the truth is, even with all those men out there, I could only truly lead,
manage, and coordinate with about four to six, max.”
I could see this had sparked some interest with the president. “That is
why we had to utilize Decentralized Command,” I explained. “I couldn’t
talk to every shooter in every platoon, squad, and fire team. I would talk to
the platoon commander. He would take my guidance and pass it down to his
squad leaders. His squad leaders would pass it on to their fire team leaders.
And they would execute. If there was an Army company supporting us, I
would talk to the company commander, or perhaps one of the platoon
commanders, and again, they would pass my guidance down to their
subordinate leadership.”
“Couldn’t things get confused? Like in the old game of telephone,
where you whisper a word around a circle of people and it comes back
different from how it started?” asked the president.
“That is why simplicity is so important,” I answered. “Proper
Decentralized Command requires simple, clear, concise orders that can be
understood easily by everyone in the chain of command. I spelled out my
Commander’s Intent directly to the troops so they would know exactly what
the ultimate goal of the mission was. That way they would have the ability
to execute on the battlefield in a manner that supported the overarching
goal, without having to ask for permission. Junior leaders must be
empowered to make decisions and take initiative to accomplish the mission.
That was critical to our success on the battlefield. And it will greatly help
you here.”
“But can’t you end up with a bunch of little individual elements just
doing whatever they want—helter-skelter?” asked the president with
skepticism.
“You could end up with that if you, as a leader, failed to give clear
guidance and set distinct boundaries,” I explained. “With clear guidance
and established boundaries for decision making that your subordinate
leaders understand, they can then act independently toward your unified
goal.”
“I get it,” said the president—“a mission statement.”
“That’s part of it,” I replied, “but there is more. A mission statement
tells your troops what you are doing. But they have got to understand why
they are doing it. When the subordinate leaders and the frontline troops
fully understand the purpose of the mission, how it ties into strategic goals,
and what impact it has, they can then lead, even in the absence of explicit
orders.”
“That makes sense,” he acknowledged.
“The teams have to be small enough that one person can truly lead
them,” I continued. “‘Span of control’ is the commonly used business term.
How many people can a leader effectively lead? In combat, depending on
the experience and quality of the leader, the skill level and experience of the
troops, and the levels of violence and potential mayhem in an area; those
numbers vary. You need to find out the optimal size for your teams. And if
it is five or six, with a leader at the top, then that is the way you should set
them up.”
From a leadership perspective, I explained to the president, there is truly
nothing more important than an understanding of the dynamics of
Decentralized Command. This is proper command and control in a nutshell.
It is one of the most complex strategies to pull off correctly. As a leader, it
takes strength to let go. It takes faith and trust in subordinate, frontline
leaders and their abilities. Most of all, it requires trust up and down the
chain of command: trust that subordinates will do the right thing; trust that
superiors will support subordinates if they are acting in accordance with the
mission statement and Commander’s Intent.
Trust is not blindly given. It must be built over time. Situations will
sometimes require that the boss walk away from a problem and let junior
leaders solve it, even if the boss knows he might solve it more efficiently. It
is more important that the junior leaders are allowed to make decisions—
and backed up even if they don’t make them correctly. Open conversations
build trust. Overcoming stress and challenging environments builds trust.
Working through emergencies and seeing how people react builds trust.
“Junior leaders must know that the boss will back them up even if they
make a decision that may not result in the best outcome, as long as the
decision was made in an effort to achieve the strategic objective,” I
explained, “That complete faith in what others will do, how they will react,
and what decisions they will make is the key ingredient in the success of
Decentralized Command. And this is integral to the success of any highperformance winning team.”
“Understood,” the president replied. “I will make it happen.”
PART III
SUSTAINING VICTORY
SEAL Team Three, Task Unit Bruiser, Charlie Platoon Mission Planning Space at Camp Marc Lee.
Ordnance table with ammunition at the ready, including loaded rifle magazines, machine gun rounds,
hand grenades, signal flares, 40mm grenades, and 84mm rockets. The photos on the wall
commemorate fallen SEAL brothers Mike Monsoor (left), Marc Lee (center), and Ryan Job (right)
who later died after a surgery to repair wounds received in combat.
(Photo courtesy of the authors)
CHAPTER 9
Plan
Leif Babin
RAMADI, IRAQ: HOSTAGE RESCUE
“They have IEDs buried in the yard and bunkered machine gun positions in
the house,” said our intelligence officer with a grave look of concern.
It was a hostage rescue mission, the ultimate high-stakes operation: not
only bad guys to kill, but an innocent victim to save. We had trained for
missions like this, but they were rare. Now Task Unit Bruiser had the
opportunity to execute such an operation for real.
A young Iraqi teenager, the nephew of an Iraqi police colonel, had been
kidnapped by an al Qaeda–linked terrorist group. They demanded his
family pay a $50,000 ransom and threatened to behead the young man
otherwise. Kidnappings and beheadings were common occurrences in
Ramadi and Anbar Province in those days. Often the hostages were tortured
or killed, even if the family paid the ransom. These terrorist kidnappers
were evil people, plain and simple, and could be counted on to carry out
their gruesome threat. For Task Unit Bruiser, there was no time to waste.
We needed to put together a plan in a hurry, brief that plan to our troops,
and launch as soon as possible.
Our intelligence indicated the hostage location was a house on the
outskirts of a Ramadi suburb. The roads into the area were heavily IED’ed,
and the threat extremely high. It was a dangerous, enemy-controlled
neighborhood. But that’s where the hostage and the bad guys who held him
were believed to be, and we had to figure out the best way into and out of
the area. Our plan had to maximize the chance of mission success while
minimizing the risk to our assault force of SEALs, EOD bomb technicians,
and our partner force of Iraqi soldiers.
Task Unit Bruiser had an intelligence department of a dozen SEAL and
non-SEAL support personnel. At the head of Bruiser’s intel shop was a
young ensign (the most junior officer rank in the Navy) recently graduated
from the U.S. Naval Academy. He wasn’t a SEAL. His specialty was
intelligence. He was new and inexperienced, but he was smart,
hardworking, and highly motivated. In deference to the character from
Comedy Central’s South Park cartoon series, we nicknamed this young
intelligence officer “Butters.” Butters and his team of intelligence
specialists data-mined hundreds of reports and gathered as much
information as they could to help facilitate our planning. Meanwhile, we—
the Task Unit Bruiser SEALs—set about putting together the plan.
As Charlie Platoon commander, I would serve as assault force
commander for more than a dozen SEALs, an EOD technician, and fifteen
Iraqi soldiers who would enter and clear the house. Jocko, as Task Unit
Bruiser commander, would be the ground force commander with
responsibility for command and control of all assets—the assault force, our
vehicles, aircraft, and any other supporting elements—involved in the
operation.
With the clock ticking, we analyzed the mission, laid out what
intelligence we had, and detailed the supporting assets that were available:
our own armored Humvees and two U.S. Navy HH-60 Seahawk
helicopters. We put together a solid plan. A small team of SEAL snipers
would clandestinely move into position some distance away to maintain
eyes on the target and cover our assault force as we approached the target
building. Our assault force would then enter the house, clear all rooms,
eliminate threats, and (with any luck) recover the hostage. Jocko would
remain with the vehicles and coordinate supporting assets until the target
building was clear. We would all then return to base and get the hostage to
medical care.
Moving with a purpose, I drove across Camp Ramadi, the large U.S.
base on the outskirts of the city where the bulk of American forces lived
and worked, for a quick meeting with the U.S. Army company commander
in charge of the area where the target building was located. The major and
his company had been deployed to Ramadi more than a year. They had
fought fierce battles against a deadly enemy all through this particular
section of the city, had lost several brave Soldiers, and suffered many more
wounded. He knew the neighborhood like the back of his hand. His tanks
and troopers would support us on the operation in the event we got in a
bind. The major and his company were U.S. Army National Guardsmen,
which meant that at home they were part-time Soldiers. Back in the world,
he was a schoolteacher. But here in Ramadi, he and his men were full-time
warriors, and damn good ones. He was an outstanding combat leader and
professional officer. We had tremendous respect for the major and his
company and valued his expertise in the area. I went over our plan with
him, and he gave me some pointers as to how we could best get into the
area undetected, and how his Abrams tanks and Bradley Fighting Vehicles
might best support us. I listened carefully.
Back at our SEAL camp, known as “Sharkbase,”1 we finalized an
innovative plan designed to catch the terrorists by surprise and reduce risk
to our force while giving us the greatest chance of success. We then
gathered all the SEAL operators into the mission planning space to brief the
plan. In addition to the SEALs, EOD bomb technicians, and interpreters
who would accompany us on the operation (we would link up later and
brief the Iraqi troops), we pulled in the key support personnel from our task
unit, who would remain behind and man the TOC. It was critical that we all
understood the plan, how and when to communicate and what to do if and
when things went wrong. Time was of the essence if we were to succeed in
this hostage rescue. Quickly, we powered through the brief.
I gave my closing comments as assault force commander. Our shooters
had just been fed a lot of information. My final remarks were a way to
prioritize that information—the three most important things I wanted the
assault force to remember and keep first and foremost in their minds:
1) Maintain the element of surprise; stealth is more important than
speed as we approach this target.
2) After the breach, once we make entry, speed is most important.
Let’s get this target cleared and secured in a hurry.
3) Good PID (positive identification) of any potential threats. Be
wary not to injure the hostage. And be ready to render medical
assistance.
As ground force commander in charge of the operation, Jocko gave his
closing comments, simplifying the complex legalese of our rules of
engagement into a clear, concise statement that everyone understood: “If
you have to pull the trigger, make sure the people you kill are bad.”
With that, the brief concluded and SEALs streamed out of the building.
Everyone jocked up in their op gear, loaded vehicles, and conducted final
equipment checks in a hurry. Jocko and I were the only ones left in the
mission planning space talking through final big-picture details of our plan.
Suddenly, Butters burst into the room. “We just got some new intel,” he
said, in a concerned and excited voice. “They have IEDs buried in the yard
and bunkered machine gun positions in the house.” It meant the terrorists
holding this hostage were ready for a fight, and the risk to our force was
high. Butters stared at us with a grave look of concern.
Jocko looked at me. “I guess you guys are gonna get some,” he said
with a confident smile and a nod. He fully understood the risks. But he also
knew our plan was sound and our assault force and supporting assets were
well prepared to meet the enemy threat.
“I guess so,” I said, smiling back at Jocko and nodding in agreement,
adding a phrase we used when facing anything particularly challenging or
miserable: “Good times.”
We walked out to the vehicles, where our SEAL assaulters and vehicle
crews were standing by, ready to depart.
“Here’s the latest intel update,” I passed to the troops. I told them about
the reported IEDs in the yard and bunkered machine gun positions.
“Roger that,” came the response from several SEALs. “Let’s get some.”
They were fired up. That was the Task Unit Bruiser way.
It wasn’t cockiness or overconfidence. On the contrary, each man knew
this was a dangerous operation and that he might very well come home in a
body bag. But despite the new intelligence, we were confident in our plan.
Our goal was to maintain the element of surprise and hit the bad guys
before they even realized we were there. This would give us the greatest
chance to rescue the hostage alive and protect SEAL assaulters from enemy
threats. After the brief, each individual operator understood the overall plan,
his specific role, and what to do if things went wrong. Then we quickly
walked through the operation in rehearsal with full gear. As a result, we
were confident we could execute with proficiency. We had addressed and
mitigated every risk that we could through planning. But every risk could
not be controlled. This mission was inherently dangerous. Whether or not
we could rescue the hostage alive would remain to be seen.
We loaded up our vehicles and launched on the operation, driving out
the gate and into the darknesss.
As we staged our vehicles some distance away, the assault force
dismounted and lined up in patrol formation. I listened for updates from our
sniper overwatch on my radio.
“No movement on target,” they reported. “All looks quiet.” Of course
that didn’t mean all was truly quiet, but only that they couldn’t see any
movement.
The night was dark as the assault force stepped off and swiftly but
silently made our way up to the target building. As the assault force
commander, I served as a double-check to my point man’s navigation to
ensure that we were in the right place. I kept my head on a swivel,
constantly looking around to keep an eye on the target building and on the
rest of the assault force.
As we crept closer, you could feel the tension rising. Once at the target,
EOD led the way scanning for IED threats. Our SEAL breach team moved
to the entry door and placed a big explosive breaching charge on the door.
BOOM!
It’s on, I thought to myself.
With an Iraqi hostage to rescue, we had planned to let the Iraqi soldiers
lead the way. But typical for our partner force, they choked with fear and
balked at stepping over the shattered and twisted metal of the door and into
the smoke-filled room beyond. From here, every nanosecond counted. Our
SEAL combat advisors, ready for this contingency, grabbed the Iraqi
soldiers and unceremoniously flung them through the door and into the
house. This was no time to delay.
Our SEAL assault force followed right on the Iraqi soldiers’ heels, and
when the Iraqis again failed to enter the next room, our SEALs quickly took
the lead and rapidly cleared the house. Within a minute, every room had
been cleared and all prisoners were under our control.
“Target secure,” I called. No shots had been fired. Now we had to figure
out who we had captured.
A bewildered young Iraqi teen was among those we had detained. We
pulled him aside and, after some questioning through the interpreter,
confirmed he was indeed the hostage who had been kidnapped. Marc Lee,
part of the SEAL assault force, was never one to miss an opportunity to
insert humor into any situation. Marc boldly strolled up to the Iraqi kid and,
in his best impersonation of Lieutenant James Curran played by the actor
Michael Biehn in the 1990 movie Navy SEALs, said: “We’re a SEAL Team,
we’re here to get you out. There’s no reason to thank us because we don’t
exist. You never saw us. This never happened.” We got a good laugh at that
as the Iraqi kid, who didn’t speak a word of English, was nonetheless
thankful and clearly relieved to have been rescued from his captors.
The plan had been perfectly executed. The first clue the bad guys had
that SEALs were there was when their door blew in. We caught them
completely by surprise in a manner they had not expected. I made my way
to the rooftop of the target building, keyed up my radio, and called Jocko,
who was now with the blocking force outside: “Jocko, this is Leif. Target
secure.” I passed our proword for “we have the hostage.”
We had rescued the hostage alive and in one piece. We gave our Iraqi
soldiers all the credit. The positive strategic impact of our Iraqi partner
force successfully rescuing an Iraqi hostage was substantial. It served as a
big win for the fledging Iraqi security forces in liberating the local populace
from the brutality of the insurgency.
Best of all, none of our guys were hurt. We found no IEDs buried in the
yard or bunkered machine gun positions in the house, though certainly the
kidnappers had access to such weapons. We were lucky. But we had also
made our luck. We had maintained the element of surprise. Our plan had
worked like a charm, a testament to the solid mission planning skills we had
developed in Task Unit Bruiser. Having the humility to lean on the expertise
of the good U.S. Army major and his Soldiers who lived and fought in this
area for a full year had helped us greatly in this success.
* * *
Back in San Diego a year later, I served as a leadership instructor at our
SEAL basic training command. I used this very scenario for a leadership
decision-making exercise. To a classroom filled with newly promoted
SEAL platoon commanders and platoon chiefs, I set up the scenario: Iraqi
kid held hostage, known location, hostage rescue mission planned and
ready to go. “Just before launch,” I told them, “the intelligence officer
informs you there are IEDs buried in the yard and bunkered machine gun
positions in the house. What do you do?”
There were varying degrees of combat experience among the
participants in the room.
“Don’t go,” said one SEAL officer. “It’s not worth the risk.” Some in
the room agreed.
A platoon chief said, “Replan the mission.” Several others agreed with
him.
I paused for a few moments to let them consider the options.
“Let me ask you a question,” I said to the class. “On what capture/kill
direct-action raid can you be certain there are no IEDs buried in the yard or
bunkered machine gun positions in the house?”
Heads shook around the room. The answer was obvious: none. You
could never assume that such hazards weren’t waiting for you on a target.
You had to assume they were, and you had to plan for them on every
operation and mitigate the risk of those threats as much as possible. To
assume otherwise was a failure of leadership. That was what mission
planning was all about: never taking anything for granted, preparing for
likely contingencies, and maximizing the chance of mission success while
minimizing the risk to the troops executing the operation.
In Task Unit Bruiser, we were able to launch that hostage rescue
operation, despite the new intel of deadly threats, because we had already
taken those things into account and planned accordingly. We had
implemented specific steps to mitigate the risk of potential IEDs in and
around the target building. We had carefully planned our operation to
maintain the element of surprise, so that even if the bad guys were manning
bunkered machine gun positions, they wouldn’t know we were coming until
it was too late. Therefore, we didn’t need to replan the operation. We were
ready. And as a result of good planning and solid execution of that plan—
combined with a little luck—we were successful.
Understanding how SEALs plan a combat mission provides techniques
that apply across the spectrum. For any team in any business or industry, it
is essential to develop a standardized planning process.
PRINCIPLE
What’s the mission? Planning begins with mission analysis. Leaders must
identify clear directives for the team. Once they themselves understand the
mission, they can impart this knowledge to their key leaders and frontline
troops tasked with executing the mission. A broad and ambiguous mission
results in lack of focus, ineffective execution, and mission creep. To prevent
this, the mission must be carefully refined and simplified so that it is
explicitly clear and specifically focused to achieve the greater strategic
vision for which that mission is a part.
The mission must explain the overall purpose and desired result, or “end
state,” of the operation. The frontline troops tasked with executing the
mission must understand the deeper purpose behind the mission. While a
simple statement, the Commander’s Intent is actually the most important
part of the brief. When understood by everyone involved in the execution of
the plan, it guides each decision and action on the ground.
Different courses of action must be explored on how best to accomplish
the mission—with the manpower, resources, and supporting assets
available. Once a course of action is determined, further planning requires
detailed information gathering in order to facilitate the development of a
thorough plan. It is critical to utilize all assets and lean on the expertise of
those in the best position to provide the most accurate and up-to-date
information.
Leaders must delegate the planning process down the chain as much as
possible to key subordinate leaders. Team leaders within the greater team
and frontline, tactical-level leaders must have ownership of their tasks
within the overall plan and mission. Team participation—even from the
most junior personnel—is critical in developing bold, innovative solutions
to problem sets. Giving the frontline troops ownership of even a small piece
of the plan gives them buy-in, helps them understand the reasons behind the
plan, and better enables them to believe in the mission, which translates to
far more effective implementation and execution on the ground.
While the senior leader supervises the entire planning process by team
members, he or she must be careful not to get bogged down in the details.
By maintaining a perspective above the microterrain of the plan, the senior
leader can better ensure compliance with strategic objectives. Doing so
enables senior leaders to “stand back and be the tactical genius”—to
identify weaknesses or holes in the plan that those immersed in the details
might have missed. This enables leaders to fill in those gaps before
execution.
Once the detailed plan has been developed, it must then be briefed to the
entire team and all participants and supporting elements. Leaders must
carefully prioritize the information to be presented in as simple, clear, and
concise a format as possible so that participants do not experience
information overload. The planning process and briefing must be a forum
that encourages discussion, questions, and clarification from even the most
junior personnel. If frontline troops are unclear about the plan and yet are
too intimidated to ask questions, the team’s ability to effectively execute the
plan radically decreases. Thus, leaders must ask questions of their troops,
encourage interaction, and ensure their teams understand the plan.
Following a successful brief, all members participating in an operation
will understand the strategic mission, the Commander’s Intent, the specific
mission of the team, and their individual roles within that mission. They
will understand contingencies—likely challenges that might arise and how
to respond. The test for a successful brief is simple: Do the team and the
supporting elements understand it?
The plan must mitigate identified risks where possible. SEALs are
known for taking significant risk, but in reality SEALs calculate risk very
carefully. A good plan must enable the highest chance of mission success
while mitigating as much risk as possible. There are some risks that simply
cannot be mitigated, and leaders must instead focus on those risks that
actually can be controlled. Detailed contingency plans help manage risk
because everyone involved in the direct execution (or in support) of the
operation understands what to do when obstacles arise or things go wrong.
But whether on the battlefield or in the business world, leaders must be
comfortable accepting some level of risk. As the U.S. Naval hero of the
American Revolution and Father of the U.S. Navy, John Paul Jones, said:
“Those who will not risk cannot win.”2
The best teams employ constant analysis of their tactics and measure
their effectiveness so that they can adapt their methods and implement
lessons learned for future missions. Often business teams claim there isn’t
time for such analysis. But one must make time. The best SEAL units, after
each combat operation, conduct what we called a “post-operational
debrief.” No matter how exhausted from an operation or how busy planning
for the next mission, time is made for this debrief because lives and future
mission success depend on it. A post-operational debrief examines all
phases of an operation from planning through execution, in a concise
format. It addresses the following for the combat mission just completed:
What went right? What went wrong? How can we adapt our tactics to make
us even more effective and increase our advantage over the enemy? Such
self-examination allows SEAL units to reevaluate, enhance, and refine what
worked and what didn’t so that they can constantly improve. It is critical for
the success of any team in any business to do the same and implement those
changes into their future plans so that they don’t repeat the same mistakes.
While businesses can have their own planning process, it must be
standardized so that other departments within the company and supporting
assets outside the company (such as service contractors or subsidiary
companies) can understand and use the same format and terminology. It
must be repeatable and guide users with a checklist of all the important
things they need to think about. The plan must be briefed to the participants,
geared toward the frontline troops charged with execution so they clearly
understand it. Implementing such a planning process will ensure the highest
level of performance and give the team the greatest chance to accomplish
the mission and win.
A leader’s checklist for planning should include the following:
• Analyze the mission.
—Understand higher headquarters’ mission, Commander’s Intent,
and endstate (the goal).
—Identify and state your own Commander’s Intent and endstate
for the specific mission.
• Identify personnel, assets, resources, and time available.
• Decentralize the planning process.
—Empower key leaders within the team to analyze possible
courses of action.
• Determine a specific course of action.
—Lean toward selecting the simplest course of action.
—Focus efforts on the best course of action.
• Empower key leaders to develop the plan for the selected course of
action.
• Plan for likely contingencies through each phase of the operation.
• Mitigate risks that can be controlled as much as possible.
• Delegate portions of the plan and brief to key junior leaders.
—Stand back and be the tactical genius.
• Continually check and question the plan against emerging
information to ensure it still fits the situation.
• Brief the plan to all participants and supporting assets.
—Emphasize Commander’s Intent.
—Ask questions and engage in discussion and interaction with the
team to ensure they understand.
• Conduct post-operational debrief after execution.
—Analyze lessons learned and implement them in future planning.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
“We’ve got to establish a planning process,” said the company’s vice
president of emerging markets. “Our success has stemmed from sending our
experienced people into new areas. They figure things out, put a plan in
action, and as a result, we win. But as our company grows—as we enter
new markets—we need a standardized process for planning, a repeatable
checklist others with less experience can follow.”
The emerging-markets VP was an impressive leader and a key driver of
the company’s overall success. Like a good SEAL combat leader, he was
aggressive and exercised Extreme Ownership to solve challenges and
accomplish his mission. While he didn’t have much patience for the
company’s bureaucracy, his drive made him highly successful, and he
pushed his team to the highest standards of performance. His leadership and
personal efforts had directly contributed to the company’s rapid expansion
and growth, with hundreds of new retail stores and hundreds of millions of
dollars in revenue. His team was highly effective, establishing strong
footholds in areas that had traditionally been dominated almost exclusively
by their competitors. They were making bold moves and, as a result, huge
gains.
I had just delivered an Echelon Front presentation on SEAL leadership
concepts to his emerging markets team, and in the discussion afterward, the
VP had turned to planning.
“I constantly harp on my team about planning,” said the VP. He asked
one of his key leaders, a regional manager, “How many times have you
heard me harp on planning?”
“Constantly,” the regional manager responded. I could tell the regional
manager respected her boss, but her body language indicated she didn’t
share his concerns about the importance of establishing a planning process.
No doubt she was thinking: We’re doing well. Why do I need to take on the
additional pain and paperwork requirement of writing down a planning
process and teaching it to my key leaders?
But she was wrong. And her boss—the emerging markets VP—had
great strategic vision in understanding the importance of planning for the
company’s long-term success.
“Early in my career as a SEAL officer, there was a time when I felt that
military mission planning was needless and burdensome,” I told them. “But
I was wrong. Establishing an effective and repeatable planning process is
critical to the success of any team.”
I told them how I had learned proper mission planning and briefing
through years of trial and error and many, many mistakes and iterations of
doing it wrong. It started back in my earliest days of SEAL training.
* * *
The PLO is for the boys. It was a statement often repeated in SEAL
platoons and task units when I first joined the SEAL Teams. That statement
implied that the brief for a combat mission should be designed and
developed for the SEAL operators that would execute the operation. PLO
stood for “platoon leader’s order,” a term used by SEALs since the Vietnam
era. The rest of the U.S. military called it an operations order (OPORD).
After 9/11, joint operations in close coordination with U.S. Army, Marines,
and Air Force, through the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, caused SEALs to
adopt the OPORD term. But by whatever name, it meant the same thing: a
mission brief. This brief laid out the specific details of who, what, when,
where, why, and how a combat operation would be conducted. The OPORD
was prepared for and given to the SEAL operators and supporting assets
who were to participate in an operation. It was supposed to allow every
member of a SEAL element and other U.S. (or foreign allied) forces
involved to understand the overall plan, their role in the plan, what to do
when things went wrong, and how to contact help if the worst-case scenario
took place. A good plan was critical to mission accomplishment, and
briefing that plan to the troops enabled effective execution of the plan.
Without successful execution, the best-laid plans were worthless.
The trouble was, as a new SEAL officer in training, The PLO is for the
boys concept simply hadn’t held true. In training scenarios I had
encountered, the PLO or OPORD brief had, in reality, always seemed to be
about impressing the instructors or the senior officer in the room with our
PowerPoint prowess. Through more than a year and a half of training in the
SEAL pipeline, there were always SEAL instructors and/or SEAL officers
sitting in on the brief to evaluate. Without fail, the instructor staff would
tear apart our plan and, in particular, our brief, hitting every detail. Their
criticism focused mostly on the presentation slides themselves, with one
clear message: there needed to be more—more slides, more graphs, more
timelines, more charts, more phase diagrams, more imagery, more
everything. It was humbling but also overwhelming.
As a junior officer in a SEAL platoon, my job was to oversee the plan
and put together the OPORD brief to best capture the tactical plan
developed by our SEAL chief, a number of key players within the platoon,
and me. I would compile all the information together into a Microsoft
PowerPoint presentation and along with those key players deliver it to the
operators in the SEAL platoon and troop that would execute the mission.
While the junior SEAL operators were preparing gear and the SEAL chiefs
and leading petty officers were debating tactics and figuring out who was in
charge of what portion of the mission, the officers worked on PowerPoint
slides to assemble all this information into a brief.
Military mission planning seemed daunting. There were so many
moving pieces and parts to every combat operation; so many variables. The
OPORD briefing format we were given was developed for a 96-hour
planning cycle: it assumed we would have at least four days to prepare for a
combat mission. The format consisted of more than seventy PowerPoint
slides. In actual practice, we had only a few hours to plan for our training
exercises, so the long and detailed format invariably left us far too little
time. We wasted most of our efforts building slides and neglected important
pieces of the plan.
On my first deployment as a SEAL officer, we deployed to Baghdad,
Iraq. The war in Iraq at that time thrust many U.S. military units into heavy
combat. But I didn’t get to experience the flood of combat operations as I
had hoped. We spent most of our time providing security for one of the top
officials of the interim Iraqi government. And I spent most of my time in
the tactical operations center sitting at a desk making phone calls,
monitoring our team via radio, and building PowerPoint slides. As SEAL
officers, we were so inundated with PowerPoint that some officers had
patches made for their uniforms to jokingly designate themselves
“PowerPoint Rangers, 3,000 hours.” It was typical SEAL humor to laugh at
the misery.
Luckily, my executive officer saw the importance of getting his young
leaders into combat, and he tasked me to lead a small element of SEALs in
a series of sniper missions supporting a battalion of the historic “Big Red
One”—the U.S. Army’s 1st Infantry Division—in the city of Samarra. We
were able to make a difference and lower the number of attacks on U.S.
Army Soldiers. But after three weeks, we only had one confirmed kill on an
enemy fighter and a couple more probable kills. We coordinated with the
Army units but didn’t really conduct any detailed planning or briefing. If
anything, I learned some bad habits when it came to planning.
When I joined Task Unit Bruiser at SEAL Team Three and became
platoon commander for Charlie Platoon, I began working for Jocko. He
expected me (and my key leaders in Charlie Platoon) to utilize the standard
planning process used by small units in the rest of the military. He expected
us to own it—Extreme Ownership.
Through a six-month-long training workup, Task Unit Bruiser learned to
work together as a team across the full spectrum of SEAL operations in a
host of different environments. At the end of every block of training, the
final phase culminated in a series of field training exercises (FTXs). These
were full-scale training missions that required us to put together a plan,
brief that plan to our troops, and then execute. Our performance in training
would dictate where we would be sent on deployment.
Of the three SEAL task units at our team, not everyone would deploy to
the fight in Iraq. Our team had to allocate one task unit for what would be a
largely noncombat deployment to the Philippines. Task Unit Bruiser, like
the other task units, wanted to fight, to put our skills to use where we could
make a difference. It was a competition: to excel in training so that we
would be chosen by the command to deploy to Iraq.
By the time we were in our final block of training, a decision of who
would go where was imminent. Our SEAL Team commanding officer (CO)
and operations master chief informed us that they would visit us in Task
Unit Bruiser to observe our brief for the final FTX. We knew that in order
for us to be chosen, we had to knock this one out of the park.
“No pressure,” said Jocko to the other SEAL platoon commander and
me with a sarcastic smile. “Whether or not we get the chance of a lifetime
to deploy to the war in Iraq all depends on whether you two can pull off a
good brief.”
Frantically, we put each of our platoon’s key leaders to work developing
a plan for the FTX mission and we began building the brief. But as we
pieced it together, it was clear our brief was lacking in many areas. It was
heavy on PowerPoint slides, overly complex, and not explicitly clear on the
different pieces and parts of the execution. We were running out of time.
“We are going to fail,” insisted the other platoon commander to Jocko
and me. Frankly, I wasn’t a whole lot more confident.
“Listen,” said Jocko. “Here is what I want you to do: forget about all
this crazy PowerPoint. I want this plan to be clear to everyone that is
actually in your platoon. I’m not worried about the CO or the master chief.
Brief it to your guys: the troops who will be executing the mission.”
“The true test for a good brief,” Jocko continued, “is not whether the
senior officers are impressed. It’s whether or not the troops that are going to
execute the operation actually understand it. Everything else is bullshit.
Does any of that complex crap help one of your SEAL machine gunners
understand what he needs to do and the overall plan for what will happen
on this operation?”
“No,” I responded.
“Far from it!” Jocko continued. “In fact, it’s confusing to them. You
need to brief so that the most junior man can fully understand the operation
—the lowest common denominator. That’s what a brief is. And that is what
I want you to do. If there is some flak over this from the CO, don’t worry. I
will take it.”
With this guidance, we revamped our OPORD presentations. We
simplified and cut down the number of PowerPoint slides and focused on
the most important pieces of the plan, which would give our troops a
chance to ask questions to clarify anything that wasn’t understood. We hung
maps on the walls—the same ones that we would carry in the field—and
referenced them so that everyone was familiar. We incorporated hand
sketches and manning lists on dry-erase boards. We had the troops brief the
parts they were planning or leading and asked them questions during the
process to ensure their piece of the plan was clear and that they understood
it fully. That was something we never had time for when we were bogged
down creating massive PowerPoint briefs with a hundred slides.
Most importantly, Jocko explained to us that, as leaders, we must not get
dragged into the details but instead remain focused on the bigger picture.
“The most important part of the brief,” said Jocko, “is to explain your
Commander’s Intent.” When everyone participating in an operation knows
and understands the purpose and end state of the mission, they can
theoretically act without further guidance. This was a completely different
mind-set for us, and we ran with it.
While Jocko pushed us to focus on Commander’s Intent and the broader
plan, he encouraged us to let the junior leaders in the platoon sort out and
plan the details. “As a leader, if you are down in the weeds planning the
details with your guys,” said Jocko, “you will have the same perspective as
them, which adds little value. But if you let them plan the details, it allows
them to own their piece of the plan. And it allows you to stand back and see
everything with a different perspective, which adds tremendous value. You
can then see the plan from a greater distance, a higher altitude, and you will
see more. As a result, you will catch mistakes and discover aspects of the
plan that need to be tightened up, which enables you to look like a tactical
genius, just because you have a broader view.”
I realized this was exactly what Jocko did to us all the time.
It was a race against time, but just before the CO and master chief
arrived, our platoons finished their portions of the plan and we talked
through them. As Jocko had predicted, we noticed things they didn’t see.
With some minor adjustments, we filled in the holes. We ran through the
plan with Jocko one last time, rehearsed the presentations, tightened up a
few things, and made final adjustments. Already, our confidence had grown
because we were briefing what we truly knew and understood and what we
knew our platoon members also completely understood. Finally, our briefs
were ready.
When the CO and master chief arrived, they sat in the back of the room
as we presented our OPORD brief to the platoons. The other platoon
commander and I gave an overview of the mission and then our key leaders
got up and briefed the details. We pulled everyone out of their seats and
gathered them around the map to walk through where we were going. We
talked through each phase of the mission in plain English so that everyone
understood. We stopped at key points and asked questions of the troops to
ensure they were absorbing the information. We even had individual
platoon members brief back portions of the plan to us to verify they had a
clear understanding and could run the mission themselves if needed. When
something wasn’t completely clear, our SEAL operators asked for
clarification, which enabled us to feel confident they understood and were
taking ownership of their role. When the brief concluded, this time—much
to our surprise—the CO and master chief gave us credit for a solid brief and
delivery. The CO said that of all the mission briefings he had listened to
during the workup, these were the ones he understood most clearly. We still
had work to do to further enhance and refine our mission planning skills,
but we had turned the corner by understanding what mission planning and
briefing was all about.
Shortly thereafter, we received word that Task Unit Bruiser had been
chosen to deploy to Iraq. It was the news we had been waiting for. That set
us on a path that led a few months later to the city of Ar Ramadi and
through some of the toughest sustained urban combat in the history of the
SEAL Teams. In that challenging environment, detailed mission planning
and briefing played a critical role in our success. We planned and briefed
hundreds of combat operations in Task Unit Bruiser and executed them with
precision. We participated in the mission plans and OPORD briefs with
U.S. Army and Marines for dozens of large-scale battalion and brigade-size
operations, some involving as many as a thousand U.S. Soldiers and
Marines on the ground and nearly one hundred tanks and armored vehicles.
We owned our planning process. After each combat operation, we
pulled our platoon together and talked through the details in a postoperational debrief. In a concise and to-the-point format, we analyzed what
had worked and what hadn’t, how we might refine our standard operating
procedures, and how we could do it better. As a result, we constantly
learned and grew more effective. That ensured we performed at the highest
levels and enabled our success. In such a dangerous environment, it helped
us maintain an edge and allowed us to effectively mitigate some risks,
which meant more of our guys came home alive.
Mission planning played an integral part in our success on the
battlefield. The right process mattered. Disciplined planning procedures
mattered. Without them, we would have never been successful.
* * *
With that lengthy story of how I learned to properly plan as a SEAL leader,
I addressed how the emerging-markets VP and his regional manager would
certainly benefit from such a system.
“You could use a planning procedure like we had,” I told them. “You
should develop a standard process with terminology and planning method
that are interchangeable and can be utilized across all elements within your
team and within the company.”
“That is exactly what we need,” said the emerging markets VP. “We
need to capture our standard operating procedures for planning. We need a
process that is repeatable. Can you teach this to my team?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
Over the next few weeks, I sent a workbook to the emerging-markets
VP, his regional manager, and their senior staff. The workbook provided an
overview of the military-mission planning process we had used with some
adaptation to the business world. We scheduled several conference calls in
which I explained our process and why. The VP and his leadership team
adapted this planning process to the challenges of their industry. Once they
had a good understanding of the planning framework, we scheduled a
presentation to key leaders with the emerging markets team.
I flew out and presented the foundational knowledge of the planning
process from the workbook in detail. We then gave the team a planning
exercise using a realistic future operation similar to those they routinely
encountered. The regional manager and I guided the team as they put
together the plan.
After an hour or so, they had built the basics of their plan into a brief to
present to us, just as a SEAL platoon or task unit would present an OPORD.
During the presentation, the regional manager and I analyzed their plan.
Afterward, we debriefed them on their plan’s strengths and weaknesses,
talked about where it was ambiguous and needed clarification, and brought
up points that had been glossed over or neglected and why they were
important. I instructed them to revise the plan with those thoughts in mind,
under the tutelage of their regional manager.
A month later, I placed a phone call to the regional manager to track the
team’s progress. She sent me a copy of their latest detailed plan.
“I like the plan you sent,” I told her. “It has improved much from the
first attempt.”
“Yes,” the regional manager agreed. “And we just executed on that plan,
and it went well. As a result of the planning, the team was able to anticipate
and address some contingencies. Before, such contingencies would have
cost us business and a decent loss in revenue. But now, with our planning
process in place, we were prepared and the team knew how to respond. As a
result, we continued to generate revenue.”
“Great,” I said.
“With everyone understanding my ‘Commander’s Intent’,” said the
regional manager, “the team is able to be more decisive on the front lines.
They can support the mission without having to run every question up the
chain of command. Our ability to plan is enabling us to better execute and
win.”
Command and Control from the high ground: Jocko (right) and SEAL senior enlisted advisor (left)
overlook the battlefield with U.S. Army company commander from Charlie Company, 1/506th 101st
Airborne, call sign “Gunfighter.” Charlie Company’s battle-hardened Soldiers took the fight to the
enemy on a daily basis.
(Photo courtesy of Michael Fumento)
CHAPTER 10
Leading Up and Down the Chain of Command
Leif Babin
CAMP MARC LEE, RAMADI, IRAQ: LEADING DOWN THE CHAIN OF COMMAND
The night sky suddenly lit up like a laser light show at a rock concert. Some
distance across the river, U.S. security positions in the heart of Ramadi were
under attack. Almost immediately, American sentries returned fire with a
massive barrage from heavy machine guns, sending their own streaks of
brilliant orange-red tracers back at enemy positions. Seconds passed before
the distant rattle and boom of machine gun fire mixed with intermittent
explosions reached us. As any military veteran knew, tracers were generally
placed every fifth round in belt-fed machine guns, which meant there was a
hell of a lot of hot lead flying around in the darkness that we couldn’t see.
The distant firefight continued for sometime. As Jocko and I watched,
flaming streaks from the engines of an unseen U.S. attack aircraft (likely a
Marine F/A-18 Hornet) appeared in the sky over the distant fight. Light
flashed as a missile ignited off the wing, streaked across the sky, and
exploded in a brilliant burst of light. Hopefully, they had smoked the enemy
without any American casualties. It was all quite a show. But here in
Ramadi, it was nothing out of the ordinary.
It had been a still and clear evening until the distant firefight lit up the
night. The baking temperatures of the Iraqi summertime heat had recently
given way to a tolerable, cooler fall. Jocko and I sat on the dusty rooftop of
the large three-story concrete building that served as our tactical operations
center on the base that had been our home, Camp Marc Lee. Our SEAL task
unit had been in Ramadi for nearly six months. Soon, we were scheduled to
return to the States. With no combat operations pending that evening, Jocko
and I had a rare moment to reflect as we looked across the peaceful, dark
waters of the Euphrates River and the lights of Ramadi on the far bank and
beyond. We reminisced about the combat operations our task unit had
participated in and all that had happened here.
Task Unit Bruiser had conducted hundreds of operations and endured
many an onslaught from enemy attacks like the one we just witnessed. We
had been in dozens of firefights, had thousands of rounds shot at us, shot
back thousands of our own, and frequently called in fire support from U.S.
tanks or aircraft. Our SEALs had done substantial damage to the enemy.
Witnessing the triumph of success, we knew we had made a difference. But
we had also endured extraordinary loss. Two months earlier, in the midst of
a huge battle for the heart of the city, we had lost Marc Lee, the first SEAL
killed in action in the Iraq War and the man in whose honor we named the
camp. Marc’s death was devastating. It left a hole that could never be filled.
The same day we lost Marc, another beloved Charlie Platoon SEAL, Ryan
Job, had been hit in the face by an enemy sniper round. Ryan lost an eye
and took substantial damage to his face. But we waited for hopeful news
from the doctors that sight would return in his remaining eye. Three weeks
later, as he recovered in a hospital in Germany, those hopes were dashed
when we learned Ryan would never see again: he was blind. This news was
absolutely crushing. Then, just as our deployment came to a close, a Task
Unit Bruiser SEAL in Delta Platoon, Mike Monsoor, was out on what
would likely have been his last combat operation before returning home,
when an enemy hand grenade was tossed into Delta Platoon’s position.
Mike dove on top of that grenade, shielding his teammates around him from
the bulk of the blast and sacrificing himself for them. Each of these fallen
SEALs were beloved teammates, friends, and brothers. We would forever
mourn their loss.
On the rooftop that night, as Jocko and I talked about all we had been a
part of in Ramadi, we knew Task Unit Bruiser had fulfilled a key role in the
U.S. Army Ready First Brigade’s (1st Armored Division) strategy that
successfully wrested control of key Ramadi neighborhoods from the
insurgents. After months of effort and countless firefights, U.S. forces and
their Iraqi Army partner forces now had a presence where they previously
had none. They could now secure the populace from the savage insurgents
who had long controlled most of the city. This, and the foresight of the
Ready First Brigade’s leadership, set the conditions for tribal sheiks to
successfully rise up against al Qaeda in Iraq and unite with U.S. forces in
what would become the Anbar Awakening.
Task Unit Bruiser was proud to have played a role in the Ready First
Brigade’s success. We had killed hundreds of insurgent fighters, helped to
eliminate many of their safe havens, and deeply disrupted their freedom of
movement. Now, with the Ready First’s combat outposts in place
throughout much of the city, the enemy no longer exercised complete
control over many neighborhoods of Ramadi. But the distant firefight we
had just witnessed from the rooftop was a reminder that the enemy was still
capable, deadly, and determined to fight back for control of the city.
What lasting impact did we truly have here? I wondered.
* * *
Soon afterward, we turned over our operations to the next SEAL task unit
that took our place. Our time in Ramadi came to an end as the last of us
from Task Unit Bruiser boarded a big U.S. Air Force C-17 cargo aircraft for
the flight home.
Once back stateside, it was quite a transition from the intense violence
in the bloody streets of Ramadi to the peace and tranquility of San Diego,
California. For many of us it was an emotional return. After all the blood,
sweat, and tears that Task Unit Bruiser—and our brothers- and sisters-inarms in the U.S. Army and Marine Corps—had spilled there, I felt torn. We
had lost the first SEALs killed in action in the Iraq War. As a leader,
nothing had prepared me for that monumental burden I must forever carry
for not bringing all my guys home to their families. If only I could trade
places with them. When Ryan got shot and Marc was killed, they were
doing exactly what I had asked of them. I was in charge; I was responsible.
My fellow platoon commander felt the same way about Mike Monsoor. I
knew Jocko felt that burden for each man.
Hearing American pundits in the media talking about all the “blood and
treasure” spent in Iraq, I reacted with fury. To them, the casualty figures
were just statistics—numbers on a page. To us, they were teammates and
friends—brothers. Their families suffered the greatest hardship. These men
were deeply missed and painfully mourned. Others had been seriously
wounded and some would never fully recover. Their lives, and those of
their families and friends would likewise never be the same. The true
sacrifices endured by the troops who fought this war were far beyond
anything that most Americans could comprehend.
Within our own beloved SEAL community, we heard the mutterings of
criticism about our operations from the armchair quarterbacks in the rear
echelon, far from the battlefield. They clearly didn’t understand what we
had done and why. They didn’t witness the impact of our operations or the
difference we had made. With angry emotion, I wrestled with how best to
professionally respond to those critics, particularly from senior officers with
no real combat experience. Part of me wanted to punch them in the mouth.
But a bigger part of me just wanted them to understand what we had
accomplished and why. I knew that anyone who truly comprehended what
Task Unit Bruiser had done and who understood the incredible victory the
U.S. Army Ready First Brigade had achieved in Ramadi would respect not
only the bravery and dedication of the troops but also the strategic success
—securing Ramadi and Anbar Province from the brink of disaster. It had
been a monumental triumph for U.S. forces on one of the toughest
battlefields anywhere, when many doubted we could win. The doubters had
been proved wrong.
Some within the SEAL community said we took too much risk, that our
sniper operations were just playing “whac-a-mole.” Used to a paradigm of
traditional Special Operations, they could not comprehend the adaptations
we had made or the risk those adaptations held. Nor did they understand the
nature of counterinsurgency and the spectacular reversal toward peace and
security that had been achieved.
Some of the politicians and most senior military brass in Washington
felt that killing bad guys only created more enemies. But they didn’t have a
clue. Our lethal operations were crucial to securing the populace. Each
enemy fighter killed meant more U.S. Soldiers and Marines came home
alive; it meant more Iraqi soldiers and police lived to fight another day; and
it meant more of Ramadi’s civilian populace could live in a little less fear.
No longer could the enemy ruthlessly torture, rape, and murder innocent
civilians. Once the local people no longer feared the insurgents, they were
willing to join with U.S. and Iraqi forces to defeat them.
* * *
Shortly after Task Unit Bruiser’s return to the United States in late October
of 2006, Jocko was asked to build a presentation for the chief of naval
operations—the most senior admiral in the Navy, a member of the U.S.
joint chiefs of staff, and a direct advisor to the president. Jocko took a map
of Ramadi and built an overlay that depicted the geographic areas that had
been completely under enemy control—al Qaeda battlespace—when we
first arrived. These were areas that, when I arrived in Ramadi, the SEAL
platoon commander who had spent the previous six months there pointed to
and said to me: “Don’t go in there. You will all get killed and no one [U.S.
forces] will even be able to reach you to get you out.”
From this map of Ramadi, Jocko built a PowerPoint slide that depicted
how the Ready First Combat Team’s Seize, Clear, Hold, Build strategy
systematically, through months of effort, established a permanent presence
in the enemy-held neighborhoods and pushed out the enemy fighters. U.S.
forces and the Iraqi forces with them demonstrated to the people of Ramadi
that we were now the strongest side. As a result, the local populace joined
us and turned against the insurgents who had terrorized them. The slide
depicted how Task Unit Bruiser SEALs had been the lead element for
virtually every major operation to build a combat outpost in enemy territory
and take those neighborhoods back.
When Jocko showed me the slide he had built, it all came together for
me for the first time. Though I had been directly involved in the planning of
almost all of these missions, had been on the ground leading a team of
operators, coordinated with the other elements on the battlefield, and had
written detailed reports of what had happened after each mission, I still had
not linked them all together nor considered the strategic impact they had
had. But now, Jocko’s brief captured in simple terms all that had been
accomplished in the Battle of Ramadi.
This was a striking realization: I was Charlie Platoon commander,
second in seniority only to Jocko in Task Unit Bruiser. And yet, immersed
in the details of the tactical operations, I had not fully appreciated or
understood how those operations so directly contributed to the strategic
mission with spectacular results beyond anyone’s wildest dreams.
“Damn,” I said to Jocko. “I never really put it all together like that
before.” This one slide made it immediately clear why we had done what
we had done. While this knowledge could never ease the pain endured by
the loss of incredible SEAL friends and teammates, it certainly helped to
put in perspective why we had taken such risk and what had been
accomplished.
As platoon commander, I had detailed insight into the planning and
coordination with the Army and Marine battalions and companies that was
far beyond most of the SEAL operators in my platoon. Yet, if I didn’t fully
comprehend or appreciate the strategic impact of what we had done, how
could I expect my frontline troops—my junior SEAL operators not in a
leadership role—to get it? The answer: I couldn’t. For a young SEAL
shooter with a very limited role in the planning process who was out
working on his weapons and gear, conducting maintenance on our vehicles,
or building demolition charges for the breacher, he walked into our mission
briefs wondering: What are we doing next? He had no context for why we
were doing the operation or how the next tactical mission fit into the bigger
picture of stabilizing and securing Ramadi.
I realized now that, as their leader, I had failed to explain it to them.
Clearly, there was some level of strategic perspective and comprehension
that would only come with time and reflection. But I could have done a far
better job as a leader to understand for myself the strategic impact of our
operations and passed this insight to my troops.
When Jocko saw my reaction to the slide and the presentation he had
built, he too realized that he should have more fully detailed the strategic
impact of what we were doing and why. It was a realization for him that
even when a leader thinks his troops understand the bigger picture, they
very often have difficulty connecting the dots between the tactical mission
they are immersed in with the greater overarching goal.
Looking back on Task Unit Bruiser’s deployment to Ramadi, I realized
that the SEALs in Charlie Platoon who suffered the worst combat fatigue,
whose attitudes grew progressively more negative as the months of heavy
combat wore on, who most questioned the level of risk we were taking on
operations—they all had the least ownership of the planning for each
operation. Conversely, the SEAL operators who remained focused and
positive, who believed in what we were doing, and who were eager to
continue and would have stayed on beyond our six-month deployment if
they could—they all had some ownership of the planning process in each
operation. Even if they only controlled a small piece of the plan—the route
into or out of a target, the breach scene on an entry door, coordination with
supporting aircraft, managing an assault force of Iraqi soldiers—those
SEAL operators still better understood the mission, the detailed steps taken
to mitigate those risks we could control, the Commander’s Intent behind
why we were conducting that specific operation. The SEALs with little or
no ownership were somewhat in the dark. As a result, they had a harder
time understanding why we were taking the risks we were taking and what
specific impact we had in the campaign to liberate Ramadi.
Looking back, one of the greatest lessons learned for me was that I
could have done a far better job of leading down the chain of command. I
should have given greater ownership of plans to the troops—especially
those who were negative and weren’t fully committed to the mission. I
should have taken the time to better understand how what we were doing
contributed to the strategic mission. I should have asked those questions to
Jocko and on up my chain of command. I should have put together a routine
strategic overview brief and regularly delivered this to Charlie Platoon’s
operators so that they could understand what we had accomplished and how
our missions furthered the strategic goals of stabilizing Ramadi and
securing the populace. With the physical hardship of operating in Iraqi
summertime heat reaching 117 degrees Fahrenheit, carrying heavy loads of
gear, and routinely engaging in fierce firefights with enemy forces, the
SEAL operators in Charlie Platoon needed greater context to understand
why that was necessary. Seeing the Ramadi overview slide that Jocko had
built, I now understood what we had done and, more important, understood
what leading down the chain of command was all about. It was a hard
lesson to learn but one I will never forget.
PRINCIPLE: LEADING DOWN THE CHAIN
Any good leader is immersed in the planning and execution of tasks,
projects, and operations to move the team toward a strategic goal. Such
leaders possess insight into the bigger picture and why specific tasks need
to be accomplished. This information does not automatically translate to
subordinate leaders and the frontline troops. Junior members of the team—
the tactical level operators—are rightly focused on their specific jobs. They
must be in order to accomplish the tactical mission. They do not need the
full knowledge and insight of their senior leaders, nor do the senior leaders
need the intricate understanding of the tactical level operators’ jobs. Still, it
is critical that each have an understanding of the other’s role. And it is
paramount that senior leaders explain to their junior leaders and troops
executing the mission how their role contributes to big picture success.
This is not intuitive and never as obvious to the rank-and-file employees
as leaders might assume. Leaders must routinely communicate with their
team members to help them understand their role in the overall mission.
Frontline leaders and troops can then connect the dots between what they
do every day—the day-to-day operations—and how that impacts the
company’s strategic goals. This understanding helps the team members
prioritize their efforts in a rapidly changing, dynamic environment. That is
leading down the chain of command. It requires regularly stepping out of
the office and personally engaging in face-to-face conversations with direct
reports and observing the frontline troops in action to understand their
particular challenges and read them into the Commander’s Intent. This
enables the team to understand why they are doing what they are doing,
which facilitates Decentralized Command (as detailed in chapter 8).
As a leader employing Extreme Ownership, if your team isn’t doing
what you need them to do, you first have to look at yourself. Rather than
blame them for not seeing the strategic picture, you must figure out a way
to better communicate it to them in terms that are simple, clear, and concise,
so that they understand. This is what leading down the chain of command is
all about.
CAMP MARC LEE, RAMADI, IRAQ: LEADING UP THE CHAIN OF COMMAND
“You gotta be kidding me!” I shouted as I burst into Jocko’s office inside
the TOC. I was fuming. “Are they serious?”
Our TOC was located in a large three-story building on the bank of the
Euphrates River, which previously housed some of Saddam Hussein’s
senior military brass before the 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq. Now the once
elaborate building was battered and worse for wear. It was the centerpiece
of our SEAL camp, just beyond the large U.S. forward operating base of
Camp Ramadi at the edge of the war-torn city. Invading armies had camped
along this very riverbank for millennia: Babylonians, Assyrians, Persians,
Greeks, Arabs, Ottoman Turks, and British troops. Now American forces,
including Navy SEALs and support personnel of Task Unit Bruiser, were
here for a time.
I was furious and venting my frustration at Jocko. “Unbelievable. How
do they expect us to actually plan our operations when they are bombarding
us with ludicrous questions?” I asked.
Jocko had just forwarded me an e-mail from our higher headquarters
staff, led by our SEAL Team’s commanding officer (CO). The e-mail in
question asked for clarification on an upcoming operation that Charlie
Platoon planned to execute in the next few hours.
As one of two platoon commanders in Task Unit Bruiser, I was Jocko’s
direct report, his immediate subordinate. Jocko reported directly to the CO,
often through the CO’s staff, who had sent the e-mail. While Task Unit
Bruiser was located in Ramadi, the CO and his staff were some thirty miles
to the east in Fallujah, a city that had been cleaned up by the massive U.S.
Marine offensive in 2004. Now, two years later, Fallujah remained fairly
stable. It was a far different environment than the constant violence of
Ramadi. Our operational plans required the CO’s approval and on up the
chain of command to the next level. The CO and his staff also provided
many of the resources and support we needed to execute our missions in
Ramadi.
“What’s the issue?” Jocko asked me, seeing that I was fired up. “The email?” He too was frustrated with the frequent questions and scrutiny.
“Yes, the e-mail,” I replied. “Every little thing we do, they don’t get!”
The oft blamed “they,” in this case, was anyone outside of my immediate
group of Charlie Platoon and Task Unit Bruiser.
Jocko laughed. “I know you’re frustrated.…” he said. “I’m frustrated
too—”
I cut him off. “It’s actually insane. We are busting our butts, risking our
lives and kicking some serious ass on the toughest battlefield in Iraq. And I
have to answer idiotic questions like whether we have a QRF lined up?”
The QRF, or quick reaction force, consisted of U.S. Soldiers or Marines
who would respond with armored vehicles, a couple of dozen troops, and
heavy firepower when our SEALs got into a serious bind and were pinned
down by enemy forces. Many of us in Task Unit Bruiser had been to Iraq
previously, and a few had seen some decent combat. On those previous
deployments, activating the QRF was virtually unheard of. But here in
Ramadi, it was a common occurrence. On any operation at any time, we
knew we could be attacked by an overwhelming number of enemy fighters
and our position overrun. In just the first few months on the ground here,
we (Charlie Platoon and our brethren in Delta Platoon) activated our QRF
more times than I could count.
The e-mail Jocko had just forwarded to me from our higher
headquarters asked a series of questions that our CO wanted to know prior
to approving our pending operation. One of the questions read, “Did you
coordinate an appropriate QRF?”
I found this question almost an insult. “Do they really think we would
do any type of operation whatsoever here without a significant QRF
package fully coordinated and on standby?” I asked. “We even set up QRFs
for ours administrative convoys. This is Ramadi. Going out there without a
QRF would be suicide.”
Jocko smiled. Over the previous weeks, he had vented similar
frustration to me, probably more so than he should have. We would
privately laugh at some of the questions that flowed from our higher
headquarters. On one recent operation Charlie Platoon had planned, we
were asked whether mortars were a danger for us. Mortars—with up to
twenty pounds of high-explosive cased in half-inch-thick steel—fell from
the sky and exploded with a tremendous concussion that threw lethal
shrapnel in all directions. Often, enemy fighters fired mortars with
impressive accuracy. Mortars were a danger for us on every operation, even
while sitting on base. We selected buildings with thicker concrete walls that
could provide some protection, and we tried never to be predictable so the
enemy could not anticipate our next move. Besides that, mortars were a risk
largely beyond our control. We had to focus our planning efforts on the
risks we could control.
Jocko had been every bit as frustrated with some of the questions and
shared that with me. But since that time, he had come to the realization that
the frustrations we had with our superiors were misguided. The CO and his
staff weren’t bad guys out to make our lives harder and stifle our
operations. They were good people trying to do their jobs the best they
could and give us what we needed to accomplish our mission. But they
weren’t on the battlefield with us. They didn’t fully understand the threats
we dealt with on a daily basis and how hard we were working to mitigate
every risk we possibly could. Still, this was combat and there were inherent
risks. In Ramadi, U.S. troops were killed or wounded almost every day.
“We waste our time answering question after question,” I said. “It takes
effort away from our planning and preparation for the actual op itself. It’s
actually dangerous!”
Jocko knew I had a point. But he needed me to see beyond the
immediate front-sight focus of my team—Charlie Platoon—and understand
the bigger picture. Jocko tried to calm me down and help me see our
combat operations through the CO’s eyes; from the perspective of his staff
in the special operations task force. “The CO has to approve every mission.
If we want to operate, we need to put him in his comfort zone so that he
approves them and we can execute,” Jocko said.
“The more we give them, the more they ask for,” I fired back. “They
want an updated seating chart for our vehicles five minutes before the
launch of every op, even though we have to make last-minute changes.
They want the names of every individual Iraqi soldier working with us,
even though I won’t know that until just prior to launch.”
Jocko just nodded, realizing that I needed to vent. He knew I was a
capable and already proven leader. He had trained and mentored me for the
past year to prepare me for the rigors of combat operations and then
unleashed me to lead Charlie Platoon on the battlefield. But he also knew I
needed to see the importance of pushing information up the chain, beyond
my platoon and task unit. I needed to understand how to lead up the chain
of command and why it was important.
The amount of information we had to gather and the required paperwork
we were forced to submit just to get approval for each combat mission was
staggering. It wasn’t what people saw in war movies or television shows.
Never in my boyhood dreams of battlefield glory had I envisioned such
things would be required. But it was the reality.
“We know our combat operations are making an impact on the
battlefield here. They are important,” said Jocko. I nodded in agreement.
Jocko continued: “But all of these operations need the CO’s approval.
He has to be comfortable with what we are doing. And we need his support
to get additional approvals from higher up the chain. So we can complain
about this all day and do nothing, or we can push the necessary information
up the chain so that the CO is comfortable and gives us approval.”
Jocko had a point. The CO and his staff were not here with us in
Ramadi. They couldn’t fully understand or appreciate the efforts we had
made at risk mitigation and the excellent working relationships we had built
with the U.S. Army and Marine battalions and companies that supported us
with QRFs.
“We can’t expect them to be mind readers,” Jocko said. “The only way
they are going to get this information is from what we pass to them, the
reports we write and the phone calls we make. And we obviously aren’t
doing a good enough job if they still have major questions.”
“Well, they should come out here then,” I responded.
“They should,” Jocko answered. “But have we told them they should or
scheduled a convoy to pick them up? I know I haven’t,” Jocko admitted.
This contradicted popular thinking. Typically, the frontline troops
wanted senior leaders as far away as possible to avoid questions or scrutiny
on the smallest of things like grooming standards and whether or not our
camp was squared away.
“We are here. We are on the ground. We need to push situational
awareness up the chain,” Jocko said. “If they have questions, it is our fault
for not properly communicating the information they need. We have to lead
them.”
“They are in charge of us,” I questioned. “How can we lead them?”
This epiphany had come to Jocko in examining his own frustrations up
the chain. “Leadership doesn’t just flow down the chain of command, but
up as well,” he said. “We have to own everything in our world. That’s what
Extreme Ownership is all about.”
I nodded, coming around to his logic. Jocko’s guidance had not yet
steered me wrong in the year we had worked together. He had taught me to
be the combat leader I needed to be. But this was a whole new attitude, a
completely different mind-set from anything I had seen or been taught.
Instead of blaming others, instead of complaining about the boss’s
questions, I had to take ownership of the problem and lead. This included
the leaders above me in our chain of command.
“We need to look at ourselves and see what we can do better,” Jocko
continued. “We have to write more-detailed reports that help them
understand what we are doing and why we are making the decisions we are
making. We have to communicate more openly in calls, and when they have
questions, we need to immediately get them whatever information they
need so that they understand what is happening out here.”
I now understood. Far from simply trying to overburden us with
questions, our CO and his staff were working hard to get the information
they needed so that they could approve our plans, forward them up the
chain for further approval and enable us to launch on combat missions to
get after the enemy. I needed to check my negative attitude, which was
corrosive and ultimately only hampered our ability to operate.
I now accepted Jocko’s challenge full on. “You’re right,” I said. “I can
bitch about their questions and scrutiny all I want, but at the end of the day,
it gets us no closer to getting our operations approved. If I get them the
information they need and put the CO in his comfort zone with what we are
doing, we are going to be much more effective getting ops approved, which
will enable us to inflict greater damage on the bad guys and win.”
“Exactly,” Jocko said.
From that day forward, we began a campaign of leading up the chain of
command. We provided extremely detailed mission-planning documents
and post-operational reports.
We pushed the understanding of this to our team leaders within the
platoon. We invited the CO, our command master chief, and other staff to
visit us in Ramadi and offered to take them along on combat operations.
Our command master chief accompanied us on several missions. The more
information we passed, the more our CO and staff understood what we were
trying to accomplish. He better appreciated our detailed planning efforts,
how we coordinated our quick reaction forces, and the substantial lengths to
which we went to mitigate the risks. The CO grew more comfortable with
our combat operations. He and his staff developed trust in us. As a result,
all the combat missions we submitted received approval, which allowed
Charlie Platoon and Task Unit Bruiser to deliver huge impact on the
battlefield.
PRINCIPLE: LEADING UP THE CHAIN
If your boss isn’t making a decision in a timely manner or providing
necessary support for you and your team, don’t blame the boss. First, blame
yourself. Examine what you can do to better convey the critical information
for decisions to be made and support allocated.
Leading up the chain of command requires tactful engagement with the
immediate boss (or in military terms, higher headquarters) to obtain the
decisions and support necessary to enable your team to accomplish its
mission and ultimately win. To do this, a leader must push situational
awareness up the chain of command.
Leading up the chain takes much more savvy and skill than leading
down the chain. Leading up, the leader cannot fall back on his or her
positional authority. Instead, the subordinate leader must use influence,
experience, knowledge, communication, and maintain the highest
professionalism.
While pushing to make your superior understand what you need, you
must also realize that your boss must allocate limited assets and make
decisions with the bigger picture in mind. You and your team may not
represent the priority effort at that particular time. Or perhaps the senior
leadership has chosen a different direction. Have the humility to understand
and accept this.
One of the most important jobs of any leader is to support your own
boss—your immediate leadership. In any chain of command, the leadership
must always present a united front to the troops. A public display of
discontent or disagreement with the chain of command undermines the
authority of leaders at all levels. This is catastrophic to the performance of
any organization.
As a leader, if you don’t understand why decisions are being made,
requests denied, or support allocated elsewhere, you must ask those
questions up the chain. Then, once understood, you can pass that
understanding down to your team. Leaders in any chain of command will
not always agree. But at the end of the day, once the debate on a particular
course of action is over and the boss has made a decision—even if that
decision is one you argued against—you must execute the plan as if it were
your own.
When leading up the chain of command, use caution and respect. But
remember, if your leader is not giving the support you need, don’t blame
him or her. Instead, reexamine what you can do to better clarify, educate,
influence, or convince that person to give you what you need in order to
win.
The major factors to be aware of when leading up and down the chain of
command are these:
• Take responsibility for leading everyone in your world,
subordinates and superiors alike.
• If someone isn’t doing what you want or need them to do, look in
the mirror first and determine what you can do to better enable
this.
• Don’t ask your leader what you should do, tell them what you are
going to do.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
“Corporate doesn’t understand what’s going on out here,” said the field
manager. “Whatever experience those guys had in the field from years ago,
they have long forgotten. They just don’t get what we are dealing with, and
their questions and second-guessing prevents me and my team from getting
the job done.”
The infamous they.
I was on a visit to a client company’s field leadership team, the frontline
troops that executed the company’s mission. This was where the rubber met
the road: all the corporate capital initiatives, strategic planning sessions, and
allocated resources were geared to support this team here on the ground.
How the frontline troops executed the mission would ultimately mean
success or failure for the entire company.
The field manager’s team was geographically separated from their
corporate headquarters located hundreds of miles away. He was clearly
frustrated. The field manager had a job to do, and he was angry at the
questions and scrutiny from afar. For every task his team undertook he was
required to submit substantial paperwork. In his mind, it made for a lot
more work than necessary and detracted from his team’s focus and ability to
execute.
I listened and allowed him to vent for several minutes.
“I’ve been in your shoes,” I said. “I used to get frustrated as hell at my
chain of command when we were in Iraq. They would scrutinize our plans,
ask questions that seemed stupid, and load on a massive paperwork
requirement that I had to submit both prior to and after every operation.”
“You had to deal with that as a Navy SEAL at war?” asked the field
manager, surprised. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“I absolutely did,” I said. “Before every combat mission, we had to get
approval up the chain of command at least two levels from a faraway boss
who didn’t fully understand what we were up against. That required me
putting the intricate details of the operation in a multitude of PowerPoint
slides and then an additional Word document of several typed pages, just to
get approval. Once approved and we launched, then I had to generate even
more paperwork when we got back: a multislide storyboard brief with
photographs, and a detailed multipage operational summary. If we killed
any bad guys on a combat mission—which in Ramadi was virtually every
operation—we had to provide sworn statements describing precisely what
happened and how our actions complied with the rules of engagement for
each enemy fighter killed. And that doesn’t even include the pages of
required intelligence paperwork we had to compile.”
“I didn’t figure you guys would have to deal with such stuff,” said the
field manager.
“No matter how big or bureaucratic your company seems,” I said, “it
pales in comparison to the gargantuan U.S. military bureaucracy. And
imagine how much more emotional and frustrating it was for us when our
lives were on the line everyday. I often worked myself into a rage over
some very similar issues to yours here.
“But we had two choices,” I said. “Throw our hands up in frustration
and do nothing, or figure out how to most effectively operate within the
constraints required of us. We chose the latter.
“Let me ask you a question,” I continued. “Do you think the company
senior executives at corporate headquarters want you to fail?”
The field manager looked puzzled. He had clearly never considered the
question.
“Could they be scheming about how to make your job more difficult,
how they can keep you and your team flustered with questions, scrutiny,
and paperwork or how they might totally sabotage your mission?” I asked.
Of course, this wasn’t the case. Having worked with the company’s
executive team, I knew they were a smart bunch of driven, eager
overachievers who wanted their frontline troops to not only accomplish the
mission but to eclipse all competitors and set the standard for the industry.
“No, they don’t want me to fail,” admitted the field manager.
“Alright,” I said. “Then if they are asking questions, criticizing your
plan, and requiring paperwork, then it means they are in need of some
critical information. When Jocko was my task unit commander, he had this
same talk with me in Ramadi. That’s what changed my mind-set about this
and allowed us to become far more effective.”
“What changed your mind?” the field manager asked.
“I realized that if my chain of command had questions about my plans
or needed additional information or more detailed paperwork, it was not
their fault,” I said. “It was my fault. I knew we were making the right
decisions and being careful to mitigate every risk we could control. I knew
our combat operations were critical to achieving strategic victory in
Ramadi. So if my boss wasn’t comfortable with what I was doing, it was
only because I had not clearly communicated it to him.”
The field manager looked at me, beginning to understand.
“So if they have questions, it’s my fault that they didn’t get the
information they need?” asked the field manager. This completely
contradicted his way of thinking and everything he had experienced in his
leadership upbringing. That “us versus them” mentality was common to just
about every level of every chain of command, whether military unit or
civilian corporation. But breaking that mentality was the key to properly
lead up the chain of command and radically improve the team’s
performance.
“Listen: the senior leadership at corporate headquarters wants you to
succeed,” I said. “That’s a given. It’s up to you to inform them and help
them understand some of the challenges you are dealing with here on the
ground. If you have questions about why a specific plan or required
paperwork is coming down the pipe, don’t just throw up your hands in
frustration. Ask those questions up the chain to clarify, so that you can
understand it. Provide them with constructive feedback so they can
appreciate the impact those plans or requirements have on your operations.
That is what Extreme Ownership is all about.”
“I guess I never really thought about it like that,” said the field manager.
“That’s ‘leading up the chain of command,’” I explained.
The field manager came around to this realization. He accepted that he
needed to do better in pushing situational awareness, information, and
communication up the chain.
“If you think they don’t fully understand the challenges you are facing
here, invite your senior executives out to the field to see your team in
action,” I said.
Over the following weeks and months, the field manager took a
different tack with his senior leadership at corporate headquarters. He took
the initiative to understand what specific information they needed and went
overboard pushing that information to them.
He also hosted the senior executives in a field visit to their frontline
troops. It built camaraderie between the corporate leadership team and the
field manager’s operations team on the ground. The face-to-face interaction
helped the senior executives understand some of the field manager’s
challenges. And the field manager’s time with the senior executives made
him realize all the more that his leaders were smart folks who wanted him
to succeed. It went a long way toward breaking down the barriers that had
built up between his field team and corporate headquarters. He was now
ready to lead up the chain.
Charlie Platoon sniper overwatch: Leif (right) reports enemy activity and coordinates friendly
movement via radio as SEAL snipers, including Chris Kyle (left), engage enemy fighters
maneuvering to attack coalition forces.
(Photo courtesy of the authors)
CHAPTER 11
Decisiveness amid Uncertainty
Leif Babin
SNIPER OVERWATCH, RAMADI, IRAQ: TAKE THE SHOT
“I’ve got a guy with a scoped weapon in the second-story window of
building 127,” said Chris.
This was a bit out of the ordinary. Chris Kyle1 was Charlie Platoon’s
point man and lead sniper—the most experienced sniper in the platoon and
one of the best in the SEAL Teams. He had been nicknamed “The Legend”
in jest on a previous deployment to Iraq. But as a driver of our sniper
operations in Ramadi, he was racking up confirmed kills on enemy fighters
at a rate that promised to surpass the most successful snipers in U.S.
military history.
What made Chris Kyle such a great sniper was not that he was the most
exceptional marksman. His secret was that he practiced Extreme Ownership
of his craft. Intimately involved in planning and scouting potential sniper
overwatch positions, he put himself in the right place at the right time to
maximize his effectiveness. While others might get bored and lose focus
after an hour of two of staring through the reticle of their sniper scope,
Chris maintained discipline and stayed vigilant. He was lucky, but more
often than not he made his luck.
If Chris or any of our SEAL shooters could PID—positively identify—a
bad guy with a weapon committing a hostile act or determine reasonable
certainty of hostile intent, they were cleared to engage. They didn’t need my
permission. If they asked for it, that meant reasonable certainty of hostile
intent was in question.
“Can you PID?” I asked.
“Just saw a dark shape of a man with a scoped weapon for a split
second,” replied Chris. “Then he stepped back from the window and
disappeared behind a curtain.”
“Roger that,” I said. “What building again?” I checked the battle map
that labeled each building or structure in the sector with a number. All of us
in this U.S. Army brigade task force operation, including a half dozen
different U.S. Army and Marine Corps battalions and thousands of Soldiers
and Marines on the ground, were operating on the same battle map, which
was crucial. But matching the numbers and street names on the map to what
we were seeing in front of us on the ground could be quite a challenge.
Here there were no streets signs or address numbers. This was Ramadi.
Amid the urban sprawl of trash-covered streets and alleyways were huge
bomb craters and walls pockmarked by bullets and spray-painted with
Arabic jihadist graffiti, which our interpreters translated for us, such as:
“We will fight until we reach either of the two heavens: victory or
martyrdom.” We were here to ensure it was the latter.
Ahead of a huge Army force of U.S. Soldiers on foot, M1A2 Abrams
Main Battle Tanks and M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicles, our SEAL platoon
had foot-patrolled into the area in the early morning darkness. We set up our
sniper overwatch position in a two-story building a few hundred meters
down the street from where a U.S. Army battalion would establish their
newest combat outpost. Once again we were deep in the heart of enemy
territory. We covered the Soldiers as they moved into the area on foot,
accompanied by tanks and Bradleys.
Now the sun had risen and hundreds of U.S. Soldiers had arrived,
clearing through the surrounding buildings. Chris and other SEAL snipers
had already killed several enemy fighters maneuvering to attack—just
another day in South-Central Ramadi. After every engagement, I relayed
situational reports (or SITREPs) to the U.S. Army company in charge of the
new combat outpost—Team Warrior of the 1st Battalion, 36th Armored
Regiment, assigned to Task Force Bandit.
The snipers did the bulk of the shooting. As an officer, my job wasn’t to
pull the trigger but to provide command and control and coordinate with the
friendly units in the area.
However, the report from Chris of a guy with a scoped weapon in a
second-story window raised some questions. U.S. Soldiers were clearing
buildings just beyond the direction he was looking, and we needed to be
absolutely clear as to what we were seeing. I crouched next to Chris and
kept fairly low to try and prevent my head getting shot off. He held his
sniper rifle steady and, through his high-power scope, carefully observed
the window where he had last seen the dark silhouette of the man with a
weapon.
“You still have eyes on?” I asked Chris, meaning did he still have a
visual on the potential target.
“Negative,” Chris responded without taking his eye from his riflescope.
Looking down the street he was observing, I could see a few hundred
meters in that direction. The streets and alleyways were narrow and
confusing. The maze of one-and two-story buildings blended together. Our
view was partially obstructed by low-hanging power lines and the
occasional palm tree or parked car.
In recent weeks, enemy snipers had wreaked havoc in this area, killing a
young Marine and an Army Soldier and critically wounding more. Ryan Job
had been shot only a couple of blocks down the street from our position.
Marc Lee had been killed just a few houses down from the building we now
occupied. Their loss was devastating and this fight was extremely personal
to us. We did our utmost to eliminate every enemy fighter to ensure more of
our teammates and our U.S. Army and Marine Corps brothers-in-arms came
home alive.
Killing an enemy sniper, who had likely killed our own, would exact
some measure of vengeance and protect American lives. But there were
friendlies—U.S. Soldiers—throughout this area so we had to be sure.
I got on the radio—the company communications net—and requested
Team Warrior’s company commander. He was a respected leader and an
outstanding Soldier I had come to admire in the months we had worked
together.
“Warrior, this is Red Bull,2 I said, when he came up on the net. “We saw
a man with a scoped weapon in the second story of building 127. Can you
confirm you don’t have any personnel in that building?” I listened as he
contacted his platoon commander, responsible for the buildings in that area,
on the company net. The platoon commander soon answered that they did
not.
“Negative,” the company commander replied (via radio) to my inquiry.
“We don’t have anyone in that building.” His Soldiers had cleared through
that area an hour or so before.
“Request you engage,” said the company commander. His platoon
commander had confirmed that none of his guys were in building 127.
Therefore, the man Chris had seen must be an insurgent sniper. And
because the threat of enemy snipers was significant, the company
commander (like me) wanted our SEAL snipers to take out any enemy
snipers before they could kill Warrior’s troops.
But Chris obviously didn’t feel good about the situation, and I certainly
didn’t either. There were a lot of friendlies in the vicinity—Warrior’s
Soldiers—just a block beyond where Chris had seen the individual. Chris
maintained eyes on the window in question through his sniper scope and
waited patiently. He knew what he was doing and needed no direction from
me.
“Just saw him again,” said Chris. He described how, for a brief moment,
the dark silhouette of an individual peered out from behind the window’s
curtain. Chris couldn’t make out anything but the shape of a man and the
faint lines of a weapon with a scope. Then, like a ghost, the man faded back
into the darkness of the room and the curtain was pulled across the window,
blocking any view into the room. We couldn’t PID the individual.
I again called Warrior’s company commander on the radio.
“We just saw the individual with the scoped weapon again, same
location,” I told him.
“Roger,” the company commander responded. “Take that guy out,” he
insisted in an exasperated tone. It was clear he was wondering, What the
hell are these SEALs waiting for? An enemy sniper is a threat to my men:
kill him before he kills us!
We certainly did not want any of Warrior’s Soldiers to get killed or
wounded. We were here to prevent such attacks, and I felt the pressure to
comply. Was it a bad guy or wasn’t it? I couldn’t say with any certitude. But
I had to make a decision.
What if we don’t take that shot, I thought to myself, and Warrior
Soldiers get killed because we failed to act? That would be horrible. It
would be a heavy burden to bear.
On the other hand, I thought, what if we take this shot and it turns out to
be a good guy—a U.S. Soldier—in that window? That outcome would be
worst of all. I knew I could never live with myself if that happened. Despite
the forceful pressure to comply, I had to take a step back and see the bigger
picture. I remembered from my boyhood days in Texas a basic rule of
firearms safety my father taught me: know your target and what is beyond
it. That made the decision all too clear. We couldn’t chance taking this shot.
Regardless of the pressure, I couldn’t risk it.
“Negative,” I responded to Warrior’s company commander. “Too many
friendlies in the area, and we can’t PID. I recommend you send some
Soldiers to reclear that building.”
I didn’t work for the company commander and he didn’t work for me.
He couldn’t order me to take the shot, and I couldn’t order him to clear the
building. But we had worked together before. I knew and respected him as a
leader and I knew he probably felt the same for me. He would have to trust
in my judgment.
I listened on the net as Warrior’s company commander again called up
his platoon commander to discuss my recommendation. From the tone in
their voices, they were clearly not happy. What I was asking them to do—
an assault on an enemy-occupied building—put their Soldiers at great risk.
It could very well get some of them killed.
“Shoot him,” came the response yet again from the company
commander. “Take that guy out,” he said, this time more forcefully.
“Negative,” I said, sternly. “Don’t feel comfortable with that.” I wasn’t
backing down, no matter the pressure to comply.
The company commander’s patience had worn thin. He had a hell of a
lot on his plate managing more than 100 Soldiers, multiple tanks, and
Bradleys as his men cleared through dozens of buildings. Responsible for
the establishment of this new combat outpost deep in enemy territory, he
also had to coordinate Warrior’s movement with his battalion and the
supporting companies. Now all he knew was that we had reported a
potential bad guy with a scoped weapon, possibly an enemy sniper. And we
were asking his Soldiers to leave the relative safety of the buildings they
were in, run across a hostile street in broad daylight, and risk their lives
because we didn’t feel comfortable taking the shot.
I couldn’t blame the company commander for his frustration. I
empathized. But Chris was one of the best snipers anywhere. He had
already single-handedly accounted for dozens of enemy killed and certainly
didn’t need any urging from me to pull the trigger on bad guys he could
PID. His level of caution signaled that I, as his SEAL platoon commander,
needed to make the tough decision—the best decision I could—based on
the information I had. As the situation developed, if information suddenly
changed, we would still have the opportunity to engage and could do so
with a clearer picture of what was actually happening. Jocko had always
encouraged us to be aggressive in decision-making. But part of being
decisive was knowing and understanding that some decisions, while
immediately impactful, can be quickly reversed or altered; other decisions,
like shooting another human being, cannot be undone. If we waited to take
this shot we could later change course, while a decision to pull the trigger
and engage this shadowy target would be final.
With that in mind, I held my ground. “We cannot engage.” I told the
company commander over the radio. “I recommend you clear that
building.”
The radio was quiet for a few moments. I’m sure the company
commander bit his tongue in frustration. Then, reluctantly, he directed his
platoon commander to reclear the building. From his voice over the radio, I
could tell the platoon commander was furious. But he knew he had to
address the threat. He directed a squad of his Soldiers to break out of the
building they were in, reclear building 127, and search for the mysterious
“guy with the scoped weapon.”
“We will cover your movement,” I told the company commander.
“If he so much as moves while our guys are in the open,” he replied,
“shoot that son of a bitch.”
“Roger,” I responded. If the individual gave us even an inkling that he
was hostile, Chris would take the shot.
Standing next to Chris with his sniper rifle trained on the window, I had
my radio headset on, ready to coordinate with Warrior’s Soldiers.
Suddenly, ten Soldiers from Warrior Company burst out of the door of a
building and dashed across the street.
Immediately, all became clear!
“Halt the clearance team and return to COP,” I directed Warrior’s
company commander over the net.
Instantly, I recognized our error. Chris and I had been looking one block
farther than we had realized. Instead of looking at the building we thought
was building 127 on our battle map, we were looking at one of the buildings
where U.S. Soldiers from Warrior were gathered. Though it was a mistake
easily made in this urban environment (and one that happened more often
than any U.S. commanders wished to admit), it could have had deadly and
devastating consequences. The guy with a scoped weapon Chris had seen in
the window was not an enemy sniper. It was a U.S. Soldier standing back
from the window with a Trijicon ACOG scope on his U.S. military issued
M16 rifle.
Thank God, I thought, literally thanking God. I was grateful for Chris’s
initial judgment—an exceptional call not to take a shot he couldn’t clearly
identify. He had done exactly as he should have and notified me to ask for
guidance. Others with less experience might have rushed decisions and
pulled that trigger. I was thankful I had held my ground and ultimately
made the right decision.
Even still, it scared the hell out of me, to think just how close we had
come to shooting a U.S. Soldier. Had we succumbed to the pressure, Chris
would have put a large caliber round into an American soldier, almost
certainly killing him. As the leader in charge, regardless of who pulled the
trigger, the responsibility would have been mine. Living with such a thing
on my conscience would have been hell. For me, the war would have been
over. There would be no choice but to turn in my Trident (our SEAL
warfare insignia) and hang up my combat boots. For Charlie Platoon and
Task Unit Bruiser, it would have undone all the great work we
accomplished, the many U.S. Soldiers and Marines we had saved. All that
would be meaningless had I given the order and Chris pulled the trigger.
I keyed up my radio on Warrior’s company net and explained what had
happened to the company commander. He too understood how easily a
building misidentification could happen. It happened all the time. He too
breathed a huge sigh of relief that we hadn’t engaged.
“I’m glad you didn’t listen to me,” he admitted.
In the uncertainly and chaos of the battlefield, despite the pressure to
take the shot, I had to act decisively, in this case holding back my lead
sniper from taking a shot on a target because we didn’t have clear, positive
identification. It was one of any number of combat examples from our time
in Ramadi that demonstrated how critical it was for leadership to be
decisive amid uncertainty.
In combat as in life, the outcome is never certain, the picture never
clear. There are no guarantees of success. But in order to succeed, leaders
must be comfortable under pressure, and act on logic, not emotion. This is a
critical component to victory.
PRINCIPLE
Books, movies, and television shows can never truly capture or articulate
the pressure from uncertainty, chaos, and the element of unknown with
which real combat leaders must contend. The combat leader almost never
has the full picture or a clear and certain understanding of the enemy’s
actions or reactions, nor even the knowledge of the immediate
consequences for momentary decisions. On the battlefield, for those
immersed in the action, the first recognition of an attack might be the
wicked snap and violent impact of incoming rounds, flying shards of
concrete and debris, or the screams of pain from wounded comrades.
Urgent questions arise: Where are they shooting from? How many are
there? Are any of my men wounded? If so, how badly? Where are other
friendly forces? Is it possible they are friendly forces mistakenly shooting at
us? The answers are almost never immediately obvious. In some cases, the
answers to who attacked and how will never be known. Regardless, leaders
cannot be paralyzed by fear. That results in inaction. It is critical for leaders
to act decisively amid uncertainty; to make the best decisions they can
based on only the immediate information available.
This realization is one of the biggest lessons learned for our generation
of combat leaders—both in the SEAL Teams and throughout other U.S.
military branches—through the years of combat in Iraq and Afghanistan.
There is no 100 percent right solution. The picture is never complete.
Leaders must be comfortable with this and be able to make decisions
promptly, then be ready to adjust those decisions quickly based on evolving
situations and new information. Intelligence gathering and research are
important, but they must be employed with realistic expectations and must
not impede swift decision making that is often the difference between
victory and defeat. Waiting for the 100 percent right and certain solution
leads to delay, indecision, and an inability to execute. Leaders must be
prepared to make an educated guess based on previous experience,
knowledge of how the enemy operates, likely outcomes, and whatever
intelligence is available in the immediate moment.
This “incomplete picture” principle is not unique to combat. It applies to
virtually every aspect of our individual lives, such as personal health-care
decisions or whether or not to evacuate from the predicted path of a major
storm. It particularly applies to leadership and decision making in business.
While business leaders may not generally face life or death situations, they
are certainly under intense pressure. With capital at risk, markets in flux,
and competitors actively working to outmaneuver opponents, professional
careers and paychecks are at stake. Outcomes are never certain; success
never guaranteed. Even so, business leaders must be comfortable in the
chaos and act decisively amid such uncertainty.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
“Which one do you believe?” Jocko asked. It was time to make a decision.
But the executives didn’t have an answer. There was much at stake for the
company and the outcome was far from certain. They weren’t sure what to
do.
Jocko and I sat in a meeting room with the CEO of a successful
software company and the CEO of one of the company’s subsidiaries, an
engineering company. Not yet five years from the software company’s
launch, the company had experienced rapid growth and exponentially
increasing revenues.
Much of the company’s leadership and that of their engineering
company were young, talented individuals driven to succeed. Jocko and I
were brought in to give them the tools to lead their teams, aggressively
expand their reach, and dominate the competition.
The engineering company, led by a talented CEO, had already produced
great results for the parent company. They had landed several lucrative
contracts and rapidly established a good reputation for quality and service.
Jim, the CEO of the parent company, and Darla, the CEO of the
subsidiary company, were proud of the effective teams and processes they
had developed. They each had recruited substantial talent from their
previous companies to join their current teams. Darla had five promising
senior engineers, who each ran teams of half a dozen personnel or more. It
had been an impressive year for Darla and her engineering company.
But like any organization, there were challenges. Constant pressure
from competitors’ recruiting efforts, trying to lure away their most talented
people, presented the most substantial impediment to the company’s longterm success. The five senior engineers were primary targets. Companies
knew that if they could convince a good senior engineer to join their firm,
the engineer’s team—his or her most talented players—might follow.
The senior engineers were highly competitive. Rather than collaborate
and support one another as the company expanded, some tried to outdo each
other, hoping to position themselves for promotion ahead of their peers.
Two senior engineers, Eduardo and Nigel, had built up particular
animosity for each other and had become quite cutthroat. The two engineers
constantly bickered and butted heads. They blamed each other when their
own projects hit delays or ran over budget. Each criticized the other’s work
and passed that criticism to their CEO, Darla, to try to undermine each
other.
For months Darla had done her best to quell their issues and animosity.
She held conference calls and face-to-face meetings with them. Darla had
even taken Eduardo and Nigel to dinner several times to help them try to
bury the hatchet. But nothing seemed to work. Now their relationship had
deteriorated to a point that it had become dysfunctional and destructive to
the rest of the team.
Jocko and I joined an off-site meeting with the senior executives from
the parent company and the subsidiary companies to deliver a presentation
on leadership and teamwork. During the off-site, Darla’s two senior
engineers’ head butting reached crisis mode. She received an e-mail from
Eduardo that stated he could no longer work with Nigel and insisted that
Nigel be fired. Eduardo also mentioned a rumor that Nigel had met with a
recruiter from another company and was considering leaving. Shortly
thereafter, Darla received an e-mail from Nigel saying that he had caught
wind that Eduardo had discussed a possible move to another company with
some of his team. Not to be outdone, Nigel insisted that he could no longer
work with Eduardo and that Eduardo must be fired.
Darla showed the e-mails to Jim, the parent company CEO, during a
break in the off-site schedule. The two CEOs, Jim and Darla, asked Jocko
and me for our thoughts on the dilemma with the two engineers. Darla was
frustrated and nervous as to how the situation might play out. Concerned
about a potential mass exodus, much of the technical knowledge on current
projects could be lost. That would mean missed deadlines and degradation
in quality and services. It might cost Darla’s company future contracts.
When Jocko asked, “Which one do you believe?” Jim just listened
quietly, waiting for Darla’s input.
“I’m not sure which one, or if I believe either,” Darla finally responded,
“but this could get bad very quickly. Losing either one of them and some of
their key folks would be painful for us. Losing both of them—and key
members of their teams—could be devastating.”
“Not exactly a position of strength to negotiate from,” Jim added.
“Does anything in their contract prevent them from leaving and taking
people with them?” Jocko asked.
“Nothing that will hold up,” said Jim. “As hot as this industry is right
now, people won’t sign non-competes. No one likes to be locked down.”
“How good are their teams?” I asked.
“Surprisingly good, despite all this drama,” Darla replied.
“And how loyal are the teams to Eduardo and Nigel?” Jocko asked.
“Hard to tell,” said Darla, “but there are no real die-hard fans in either
group, from what I have seen.”
The break was over and the off-site agenda started again. Strategic
discussions took place but Darla wasn’t engaged. She was clearly frustrated
by the drama within her team, and with so much at stake, she seemed
uncertain and unclear on what to do about it.
When the next break in the leadership off-site came, again, Jim, Darla,
Jocko, and I assembled in a meeting room to discuss options.
“I think I better just let this play its course,” Darla started. She had
decided not to decide.
“What makes you say that?” I asked. In the SEAL Teams, we taught our
leaders to act decisively amid chaos. Jocko had taught me that, as a leader,
my default setting should be aggressive—proactive rather than reactive.
This was critical to the success of any team. Instead of letting the situation
dictate our decisions, we must dictate the situation. But for many leaders,
this mind-set was not intuitive. Many operated with a “wait and see”
approach. But experience had taught me that the picture could never be
complete. There was always some element of risk. There was no 100percent right solution.
“Well, I’m really not sure what is going on,” Darla responded. “Eduardo
and Nigel could both be lying, or they could both be telling the truth. There
is no way to know. And there isn’t enough information for me to act, so I
think I just have to let it play out.”
“How do you think this will most likely play out?” I asked.
“Time will tell. But they don’t like working with each other,” Darla
responded. “When they realize I’m keeping them both, one will leave. If
they choose to leave, they will have offers from our competitors very
quickly. They will likely take some key players from the team with them.”
“Are there any other options?” Jocko inquired.
“Well, I could fire one of them. But which one?” Darla asked. “What if I
fire the wrong one? I just don’t think I know enough to make a decision.”
“I think you might,” Jocko said. Darla knew enough to determine how
the scenario was likely to play out, and thus she knew enough to make a
decision. “There is another option,” said Jocko.
“What’s that?” Darla said incredulously.
“You could fire them both,” said Jocko. Darla and Jim looked at each
other, puzzled. “When Leif and I were in Task Unit Bruiser together,” Jocko
continued, “another task unit at our SEAL Team had a major issue between
the task unit commander and one of the platoon commanders. Both were
key leaders in positions critical to the task unit’s performance. But these
guys just couldn’t get along. They hated each other. Each bad-mouthed the
other to our SEAL Team’s commanding officer and his staff. Finally, our
commanding officer—our CEO—declared he had had enough. He gave
them the weekend to figure out a way they could work together. On
Monday morning, they both still insisted they could not work together and
each demanded that the other be fired. Instead, and to their surprise, the
commanding officer fired them both.”
It took a moment to sink in. Darla was surprised. She had not considered
this option.
“I don’t want to lose either of them, much less both of them!” Darla
replied.
“Let me ask you this,” I asked Darla. “Are either one of them stellar
leaders?”
“Not exactly,” Darla admitted.
Jocko responded, “They haven’t found a way to work together. They are
both possibly interviewing at other companies. And now, they are plotting
against each other. All this has detrimental impact to your company’s
performance. Not exactly the kind of leaders I would want working for me.”
“But, if I do that, what happens to their teams?” Darla asked. She was
concerned about the immediate consequence that the loss in technical
knowledge and expertise would mean to the company and how their teams
might react.
“You said that you didn’t think there are any die-hard fans of either
within the team,” said Jocko. “Even if there are one or two loyalists, do you
really want people loyal to these types of leaders working at your company?
Let me ask you this: Are there any high-potential frontline personnel that
could take their jobs? It may be time for a battlefield promotion. It’s likely
the real in-depth knowledge on the various projects is with the frontline
troops, not with Eduardo and Nigel.”
“That’s probably true,” Darla said.
“Absolutely true,” Jim added, who had been quietly listening to the
conversation.
“How do you want to be perceived?” I asked Darla. “Do you want to be
seen as someone who can be held hostage by the demands—the threats—
they are making? Do you want to be seen as indecisive?”
“No,” Darla said, flatly.
“As a leader, you want to be seen—you need to be seen—as decisive,
and willing to make tough choices. The outcome may be uncertain, but you
have enough understanding and information to make a decision,” I said.
“This is one of those moments,” said Jocko. “The people on the front
lines, they understand these dynamics. They know what is going on. They
will respect this, and their loyalty to you and your company will increase.”
“That makes sense,” Darla admitted.
“I’ll tell you something else,” I added. “These guys are cancers. Their
destructive attitudes will metastasize within the team and spread to others.
The quicker you cut them out, the less damage they will do, the less
negativity they will spread, and, most important, the fewer people they will
pull away with them.”
“What do you think, Jim?” Darla asked.
“I think it makes sense,” Jim replied. “Jocko and Leif have been
hammering us to be aggressive and maneuver to get the best advantage over
the enemy; to be decisive amid uncertainty. I think now is the perfect time
to do just that,” Jim replied. “Execute.”
Darla was excused from the off-site meetings for an hour to come up
with a plan. She called her lead developer and discussed her intent. He
loved it and quickly offered up two candidates from each team who were
ready and eager to step up. The two candidates had worked together in the
past and already had a good professional relationship. The lead developer
pulled each of the two individuals aside and met with them to check their
willingness. He quickly reported back to Darla that they each were ready
and excited to make the step up, adding that they both had a deep
knowledge of the most critical ongoing projects.
Darla debriefed Jim on the plan specifics. Then Darla decisively
executed the plan. She had the company’s Human Resources (HR)
department draft a letter to both Eduardo and Nigel. HR served them each
their respective letter of termination, and security escorted them from the
building. The Information Technology department turned off their e-mail,
their phone service, and their access to the internal intranet. For Nigel and
Eduardo, it was game over. For Darla and her new leaders, it was game on.
Bruiser SEALs patrol into enemy territory. Ramadi’s urban combat environment presented immense
challenges: every piece of trash a potential IED, every window, door, balcony, and rooftop a potential
enemy firing position.
(Photo courtesy of Michael Fumento)
CHAPTER 12
Discipline Equals Freedom—The Dichotomy of Leadership
Jocko Willink
BAGHDAD, IRAQ: THE DISCIPLINE TRANSFORMATION
“Target secure,” came the call over our SEAL platoon’s intersquad radio.
We had just blown in the front door of the target building with a large
explosive charge, and our SEAL assaulters systematically cleared through
every room, eliminating threats and making sure we were in total control of
the entire structure. Now it was time to determine who we had killed or
captured and gather intelligence.
I was a SEAL platoon commander on my first deployment to Iraq. The
bulk of our operations consisted of what we called direct-action
“capture/kill” missions or targeted raids. For these operations, we operated
almost exclusively at night.
The missions usually unfolded in a similar, somewhat predictable
manner. Based on intelligence either from our higher headquarters or
garnered from previous operations, we determined the location of a terrorist
(or terrorists). Our SEAL platoon would then plan and execute an assault on
the target building—a home, place of work, or safe house—in order to
capture the terrorists and gather intelligence. Entering a target building, our
SEALs quickly secured all the rooms and controlled the people found
inside. We would then conduct quick battlefield questioning on military-age
males, identify suspected terrorists or insurgents and detain them, then turn
them over to a detention facility for further questioning or confinement.
Before leaving the target, we searched the building for intelligence and
evidence that might help convict in the Iraqi court system the captured
persons. Such evidence might be bomb-making material, weapons, or
anything else that could either lead us to other insurgents or help build a
case against the suspects we detained.
We had trained extensively to patrol through cities, breach doors, clear
buildings, and capture or kill bad guys. But we weren’t police. We had very
little training on how to search buildings for intelligence and properly
collect evidence. But how hard could it be? On our platoon’s first few
operations we did what any rowdy group of highly trained, armed young
men would do: we ransacked the place. While the terrorists proved highly
adept at hiding weapons and evidence, SEALs showed particular skill at
breaking things to find what had been hidden. We flipped over furniture,
emptied desks and dresser drawers onto the floor, ripped down curtains and
pictures from the walls. We smashed anything that looked like it might have
some kind of hiding space in it, including televisions, cabinets, or radios.
Often, we found evidence where you might least expect it. But we created
such a mess in the process that we had to go through everything again to
double-check what had actually been searched. This meant moving
everything that had been dumped onto the floor to check under carpets for
trapdoors, where contraband might be hidden. While we often found the
evidence or intelligence we were looking for, on several occasions critical
intelligence and evidence was missed or left behind because no specific
person had been designated as responsible for its collection. The whole
search process took substantial time, generally around forty-five minutes to
complete. Remaining in a target building for that long, after the noise of an
explosive breach and the assault team clearing the building alerted everyone
in the neighborhood to our presence, made us vulnerable to counterattack
from insurgents in the area.
After we had conducted a number of missions like this, a new Iraqi
court system (composed of Iraqi judges and American advisors) imposed
stricter requirements for collected evidence, including a documented chain
of custody and the required paperwork for each item and a written
explanation of where exactly the evidence had come from—right down to
which room in which building. That way, in the new court system, the
evidence could be used with a higher degree of confidence.
Suddenly, our SEAL platoon’s rudimentary and highly undisciplined
method of searching—the ransack—became even more problematic. So I
tasked my assistant platoon commander (known as the assistant officer in
charge or AOIC) with creating a more efficient search procedure for
evidence to ensure our compliance with the new Iraqi court requirements. A
young, enthusiastic, and aggressive SEAL, my AOIC was fired up to
operate and lead. He took the assignment seriously and dove in.
A couple of days later he presented me with his plan. At first look it
appeared complex, a possible violation of the Simple principle. But as he
broke it down for me, it became clear that each person was assigned a
simple task to execute while other members of the assault force conducted
other tasks concurrently. It was a simple plan and a systematic method to
enhance our effectiveness at searching for evidence. The plan designated a
search team with specific individuals responsible for specific tasks: one
would draw a sketch of the house and room layout, another would label
each room with a number, another would video and photograph evidence
where it was found. Each room would have a single SEAL operator who
was designated the “room owner,” responsible for everything in the room.
Searches would happen systematically in an organized manner, starting
from the floor up, so that we no longer had to search beneath what had been
dumped on the floor.
The room owner would collect any contraband or possible evidence
found and place it into a plastic bag that he carried. He would label that bag
so that everyone would know who had found the evidence and in what
room. For each room, when the search was completed, the room owner put
an “X” through the labeled room number so that everyone knew the room
had been searched. Finally, the room owner would maintain possession of
the bags he collected on target until we were back on base and he could
personally hand them over to the intelligence exploitation team in an
organized manner, following the chain of custody procedures. Once back at
camp, the sketcher and the labeler would lay out tape on the floor with the
room numbers on them. The assault force would then file through and put
their bag of evidence in the appropriate spot. When the exploitation team
started to analyze the information, they would already know what building
and what room it was found in. They also knew who had collected the
intelligence, in case there were any questions.
While the plan at first sounded complex, when broken down into
individual roles, it was actually fairly simple. In addition, I figured if each
one of these jobs took perhaps ten minutes to accomplish, and they were all
being executed simultaneously, this disciplined procedure would enable us
to complete the task with far greater efficiency and speed than our
undisciplined ransack method.
My AOIC had developed an excellent plan that promised to greatly
enhance our evidence collection. Now we had to brief that plan to our
SEAL platoon. I had the AOIC put together some PowerPoint slides that
laid out the new process. It was a relatively simple brief explaining the
roles, responsibilities, and sequence of the method. We called in the platoon
and ran through the plan.
Since human beings tend to resist change, we met instant dissent. “This
will take too long,” one SEAL complained.
“Why are we changing the way we do this? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix
it!” another added.
“I’m not going to sit on target waiting to get shot while we do all this!”
a senior SEAL exclaimed. “This is going to get somebody killed.”
According to him, implementing this plan would spell our imminent doom.
Virtually our entire SEAL platoon was vehemently against the new plan.
So I had to explain why. “Listen,” I started: “Who here has searched a
room that had already been searched?” The platoon admitted just about
everyone had. “Who here has looked into a messy bedroom on a target and
wondered whether or not it has been searched?” Again, most everyone had
done so. I continued, “Who searched the upstairs bathroom on our last
target?” They looked at me with blank stares. I knew the answer and told
them: “No one.” Upon our return, we had determined that the bathroom
hadn’t been searched at all; we had missed it. “The fact is we are not doing
the best job. Evidentiary standards are increasing. We have to do a better.
This method gives us a good standard operating procedure to utilize. With
discipline and training, we will be much more effective in our search
procedures than we have been. So we are going to try this method. Let’s
give it some test runs and see how it works.”
There was grumbling, but the SEAL platoon reluctantly complied. We
jocked up in our op gear and headed out to some abandoned buildings on
base that we used for walk-through rehearsals prior to missions. Once there,
we talked through the plan one more time and then we ran through it—a
full-scale dress rehearsal. The first run took us half an hour, a substantial
amount of time, but still less than the forty-five minutes it had taken before.
We shifted to another building and ran through it again. Now people knew
their jobs and better understood the flow. The second run took about twenty
minutes. We moved to another building. This time, it took ten minutes. The
guys were now believers. Implementing a disciplined search method
drastically improved our effectiveness and efficiency. It meant we were less
likely to miss key evidence and intelligence. It also improved our speed,
which meant we could spend less time on target, which decreased the risk
of enemy counterattack.
That night we put the new method into practice for the first time on an
actual combat mission in downtown Baghdad. Like clockwork, we cleared,
secured, and searched the target building—all in less than twenty minutes.
When we returned to our compound, all of the evidence we gathered was
placed into neat piles organized by room. Going forward, we made minor
adjustments to our new procedures for even greater efficiency, like creating
ziplock bags that were hung around prisoners’ necks to hold the personal
belongings and evidence found on their person. With a baseline of solid,
disciplined search procedures, it was easy to make minor adjustments to
enhance our team’s efficiency and effectiveness.
Not only were we faster with the new method, the quality of our
evidence collection vastly improved. Using the previous ransack method,
time constraints and the inability to keep track of sloppily stored evidence
limited us from hitting multiple targets per night. But with our new,
disciplined method, we could execute raids and complete our searches so
quickly that we could now hit two and sometimes even three targets in a
single night, all while keeping evidence separate and organized. Our
freedom to operate and maneuver had increased substantially through
disciplined procedures. Discipline equals freedom.
* * *
Discipline starts every day when the first alarm clock goes off in the
morning. I say “first alarm clock” because I have three, as I was taught by
one of the most feared and respected instructors in SEAL training: one
electric, one battery powered, one windup. That way, there is no excuse for
not getting out of bed, especially with all that rests on that decisive moment.
The moment the alarm goes off is the first test; it sets the tone for the rest of
the day. The test is not a complex one: when the alarm goes off, do you get
up out of bed, or do you lie there in comfort and fall back to sleep? If you
have the discipline to get out of bed, you win—you pass the test. If you are
mentally weak for that moment and you let that weakness keep you in bed,
you fail. Though it seems small, that weakness translates to more significant
decisions. But if you exercise discipline, that too translates to more
substantial elements of your life.
I learned in SEAL training that if I wanted any extra time to study the
academic material we were given, prepare our room and my uniforms for an
inspection, or just stretch out aching muscles, I had to make that time
because it did not exist on the written schedule. When I checked into my
first SEAL Team, that practice continued. If I wanted extra time to work on
my gear, clean my weapons, study tactics or new technology, I needed to
make that time. The only way you could make time, was to get up early.
That took discipline.
Waking up early was the first example I noticed in the SEAL Teams in
which discipline was really the difference between being good and being
exceptional. I saw it with some of the older, experienced SEALs. Those
who were at work before everyone else were the ones who were considered
the best “operators.” That meant they had the best field craft, the most
squared away gear, they were the best shots, and they were the most
respected. It all tied into discipline. By discipline, I mean an intrinsic selfdiscipline—a matter of personal will. The best SEALs I worked with were
invariably the most disciplined. They woke up early. They worked out
every day. They studied tactics and technology. They practiced their craft.
Some of them even went out on the town, drank, and stayed out until the
early hours of the morning. But they still woke up early and maintained
discipline at every level.
When SEALs launch combat operations, discipline is paramount. SEAL
operators might have to carry loads of fifty to a hundred pounds of gear.
Temperatures can be either extremely hot or freezing cold. When on a
patrol and it comes time to rest, SEAL operators can’t just flop down and
take a load off. They must move tactically—slowly and quietly. When they
want to eat or drink, they can’t just drop everything and dig into their gear.
Instead, SEAL operators have to wait until they are in a secure position.
Though they might be exhausted from lack of sleep, when they get a chance
to rest, SEAL operators must remain vigilant and aware so that the enemy
does not surprise them. Nothing is easy. The temptation to take the easy
road is always there. It is as easy as staying in bed in the morning and
sleeping in. But discipline is paramount to ultimate success and victory for
any leader and any team.
Although discipline demands control and asceticism, it actually results
in freedom. When you have the discipline to get up early, you are rewarded
with more free time. When you have the discipline to keep your helmet and
body armor on in the field, you become accustomed to it and can move
freely in it. The more discipline you have to work out, train your body
physically and become stronger, the lighter your gear feels and the easier
you can move around in it.
As I advanced into leadership positions, I strived to constantly improve
my personal discipline. I realized very quickly that discipline was not only
the most important quality for an individual but also for a team. The more
disciplined standard operating procedures (SOPs) a team employs, the more
freedom they have to practice Decentralized Command (chapter 8) and thus
they can execute faster, sharper, and more efficiently. Just as an individual
excels when he or she exercises self-discipline, a unit that has tighter and
more-disciplined procedures and processes will excel and win.
I carried the idea of disciplined standard operating procedures into Task
Unit Bruiser. While there were all kinds of preexisting SOPs that SEAL
platoons and task units followed—how we react to enemy contact in
predetermined maneuvers called “immediate action drills,” the way we
patrol as a standard method that varies little from platoon to platoon—in
Bruiser, we took them even further. We standardized the way we loaded
vehicles. We standardized the way we mustered in a building on a target.
We standardized the way we “broke out” (or exited) from buildings. We
standardized the way we got head counts to ensure we had all of our troops.
We even standardized our radio voice procedures so that the most important
information could be communicated quickly and clearly to the whole troop
without confusion. There was a disciplined methodology to just about
everything we did.
But there was, and is, a dichotomy in the strict discipline we followed.
Instead of making us more rigid and unable to improvise, this discipline
actually made us more flexible, more adaptable, and more efficient. It
allowed us to be creative. When we wanted to change plans midstream on
an operation, we didn’t have to recreate an entire plan. We had the freedom
to work within the framework of our disciplined procedures. All we had to
do was link them together and explain whatever small portion of the plan
had changed. When we wanted to mix and match fire teams, squads, and
even platoons, we could do so with ease since each element operated with
the same fundamental procedures. Last, and perhaps most important, when
things went wrong and the fog of war set in, we fell back on our disciplined
procedures to carry us through the toughest challenges on the battlefield.
While increased discipline most often results in more freedom, there are
some teams that become so restricted by imposed discipline that they inhibit
their leaders’ and teams’ ability to make decisions and think freely. If
frontline leaders and troops executing the mission lack the ability to adapt,
this becomes detrimental to the team’s performance. So the balance
between discipline and freedom must be found and carefully maintained. In
that, lies the dichotomy: discipline—strict order, regimen, and control—
might appear to be the opposite of total freedom—the power to act, speak,
or think without any restrictions. But, in fact, discipline is the pathway to
freedom.
PRINCIPLE
Every leader must walk a fine line. That’s what makes leadership so
challenging. Just as discipline and freedom are opposing forces that must be
balanced, leadership requires finding the equilibrium in the dichotomy of
many seemingly contradictory qualities, between one extreme and another.
The simple recognition of this is one of the most powerful tools a leader
has. With this in mind, a leader can more easily balance the opposing forces
and lead with maximum effectiveness.
A leader must lead but also be ready to follow. Sometimes, another
member of the team—perhaps a subordinate or direct report—might be in a
better position to develop a plan, make a decision, or lead through a specific
situation. Perhaps the junior person has greater expertise in a particular area
or more experience. Perhaps he or she simply thought of a better way to
accomplish the mission. Good leaders must welcome this, putting aside ego
and personal agendas to ensure that the team has the greatest chance of
accomplishing its strategic goals. A true leader is not intimidated when
others step up and take charge. Leaders that lack confidence in themselves
fear being outshined by someone else. If the team is successful, then
recognition will come for those in charge, but a leader should not seek that
recognition. A leader must be confident enough to follow someone else
when the situation calls for it.
A leader must be aggressive but not overbearing. SEALs are known for
their eagerness to take on tough challenges and accomplish some of the
most difficult missions. Some may even accuse me of hyperaggression. But
I did my utmost to ensure that everyone below me in the chain of command
felt comfortable approaching me with concerns, ideas, thoughts, and even
disagreements. If they felt something was wrong or thought there was a
better way to execute, I encouraged them, regardless of rank, to come to me
with questions and present an opposing view. I listened to them, discussed
new options, and came to a conclusion with them, often adapting some part
or perhaps even all of their idea if it made sense. If it didn’t make sense, we
discussed why and we each walked away with a better understanding of
what we were trying to do. That being said, my subordinates also knew that
if they wanted to complain about the hard work and relentless push to
accomplish the mission I expected of them, they best take those thoughts
elsewhere.
A leader must be calm but not robotic. It is normal—and necessary—to
show emotion. The team must understand that their leader cares about them
and their well-being. But, a leader must control his or her emotions. If not,
how can they expect to control anything else? Leaders who lose their
temper also lose respect. But, at the same time, to never show any sense of
anger, sadness, or frustration would make that leader appear void of any
emotion at all—a robot. People do not follow robots.
Of course, a leader must be confident but never cocky. Confidence is
contagious, a great attribute for a leader and a team. But when it goes too
far, overconfidence causes complacency and arrogance, which ultimately
set the team up for failure.
A leader must be brave but not foolhardy. He or she must be willing to
accept risk and act courageously, but must never be reckless. It is a leader’s
job to always mitigate as much as possible those risks that can be controlled
to accomplish the mission without sacrificing the team or excessively
expending critical resources.
Leaders must have a competitive spirit but also be gracious losers. They
must drive competition and push themselves and their teams to perform at
the highest level. But they must never put their own drive for personal
success ahead of overall mission success for the greater team. Leaders must
act with professionalism and recognize others for their contributions.
A leader must be attentive to details but not obsessed by them. A good
leader does not get bogged down in the minutia of a tactical problem at the
expense of strategic success. He or she must monitor and check the team’s
progress in the most critical tasks. But that leader cannot get sucked into the
details and lose track of the bigger picture.
A leader must be strong but likewise have endurance, not only
physically but mentally. He or she must maintain the ability to perform at
the highest level and sustain that level for the long term. Leaders must
recognize limitations and know to pace themselves and their teams so that
they can maintain a solid performance indefinitely.
Leaders must be humble but not passive; quiet but not silent. They must
possess humility and the ability to control their ego and listen to others.
They must admit mistakes and failures, take ownership of them, and figure
out a way to prevent them from happening again. But a leader must be able
to speak up when it matters. They must be able to stand up for the team and
respectfully push back against a decision, order, or direction that could
negatively impact overall mission success.
A leader must be close with subordinates but not too close. The best
leaders understand the motivations of their team members and know their
people—their lives and their families. But a leader must never grow so
close to subordinates that one member of the team becomes more important
than another, or more important than the mission itself. Leaders must never
get so close that the team forgets who is in charge.
A leader must exercise Extreme Ownership. Simultaneously, that leader
must employ Decentralized Command by giving control to subordinate
leaders.
Finally, a leader has nothing to prove but everything to prove. By virtue
of rank and position, the team understands that the leader is in charge. A
good leader does not gloat or revel in his or her position. To take charge of
minute details just to demonstrate and reinforce to the team a leader’s
authority is the mark of poor, inexperienced leadership lacking in
confidence. Since the team understands that the leader is de facto in charge,
in that respect, a leader has nothing to prove. But in another respect, a
leader has everything to prove: every member of the team must develop the
trust and confidence that their leader will exercise good judgment, remain
calm, and make the right decisions when it matters most. Leaders must earn
that respect and prove themselves worthy, demonstrating through action
that they will take care of the team and look out for their long-term interests
and well-being. In that respect, a leader has everything to prove every day.
Beyond this, there are countless other leadership dichotomies that must
be carefully balanced. Generally, when a leader struggles, the root cause
behind the problem is that the leader has leaned too far in one direction and
steered off course. Awareness of the dichotomies in leadership allows this
discovery, and thereby enables the correction.
The Dichotomy of Leadership
A good leader must be:
• confident but not cocky;
• courageous but not foolhardy;
• competitive but a gracious loser;
• attentive to details but not obsessed by them;
• strong but have endurance;
• a leader and follower;
• humble not passive;
• aggressive not overbearing;
• quiet not silent;
• calm but not robotic, logical but not devoid of emotions;
• close with the troops but not so close that one becomes more
important than another or more important than the good of the
team; not so close that they forget who is in charge.
• able to execute Extreme Ownership, while exercising
Decentralized Command.
A good leader has nothing to prove, but everything to prove.
APPLICATION TO BUSINESS
The chief financial officer (CFO) finally caught me alone, in between
meetings, and made the point clear: the whole electrical division was losing
money. The CFO could not believe that Andy, the company’s CEO, kept the
division running. Perhaps at some future point, the division might turn
things around and become profitable. But that future was likely more than
five years away— five very long years in the construction industry, where
market conditions, weather, competition, contracts, and costs of labor could
radically change forecasts.
“The only way we can make the electrical division profitable is if we
pay them thirty to forty percent above the market rate for electrical work.
And if we do that, sure, they might make money, but we will lose big.”
“Why do you think Andy is keeping it open and running?” I asked with
curiosity. “He is a smart guy. He must see what’s happening.”
The CFO looked down to the ground and then over each shoulder. “It’s
Mike,” he said solemnly.
“Mike, the CEO of the electrical division?” I asked.
“Yeah. He’s an old friend of Andy’s,” answered the CFO, “and a very
good friend that has stuck with him through thick and thin.”
“OK,” I replied, understanding what was being implied. Andy was
taking care of his friend.
“What are the consequences of keeping the electrical division open?” I
asked.
“If we keep it open, we will continue to bleed capital. That by itself
won’t kill us,” answered the CFO. “But if we are that tight on cash and we
encounter any unexpected cost, we would be extremely vulnerable. I don’t
mind risk, but this simply does not make sense.”
The next day I sat down with Andy. While I had worked with this
company for about a year, it was mostly with the middle managers. My
latest two-day workshop had been with the C-level executives. Andy had
brought me in to help with the other leaders but it turned out he too could
use some guidance.
Waiting for an opportunity to open the discussion, I sat with Andy to
review the strengths and weaknesses of his leadership team across
divisions. Eventually, we got to Mike.
“He’s a great guy,” said Andy. “Known him for years. He really knows
the business, inside and out.”
“That’s great,” I replied. “His division must be making a lot of money
for you.”
“Well you know, I saw some good opportunity on the electrical side, and
wanted to get into it,” Andy said, with obvious unease. “With Mike’s
experience, I knew he could run a good show.”
“So the division is profitable?” I asked.
“Not yet,” Andy answered, “but it will be.”
“How many months until it is?” I asked.
Andy paused. “Honestly,” he said, “it could be three to five years.”
“Ouch,” I said. “That sounds like a long time in this business.”
“And it could be too long. It is costing us money every month to keep
him operating,” Andy admitted. “But they just aren’t getting any contracts
outside of our company right now.”
“Have you thought about shutting it down?” I asked directly.
“I have … but … you know, it will be profitable in a few years,” he
replied slowly.
“Let me ask you this,” I said. “What if some other unforeseen event
comes up? Costs you didn’t expect? A major incident or accident? A large
contract that falls through? Could you afford this kind of drain on the
company if things went sideways?”
“Probably not,” Andy replied.
“Is that the best strategy for the company?” I asked.
“You know, it’s not that simple. I’ve known Mike for a long time. Long
time,” Andy said. “He has always done me right. I can’t just shut him
down.”
There it was. Andy knew this loyalty was misguided. I just needed to
get him to come to terms with it and see it for what it was.
Since Andy had just sat through my brief on the Dichotomy of
Leadership, I stole one of my own lines right from it: “So one of your men
is more important than the mission?” I asked bluntly.
“I didn’t say that,” Andy insisted.
“As a leader, you have to be close to your people,” I told him. “And just
like I said in the brief, the balance is that you can’t be so close that one
person becomes more important than the mission or the good of the team.
Frankly, it sounds to me like Mike is more important than the financial
stability and success of your company.”
It was evident that Andy knew he was leaning too far in one direction.
As with many of the dichotomies of leadership, a person’s biggest strength
can be his greatest weakness when he doesn’t know how to balance it. A
leader’s best quality might be her aggressiveness, but if she goes too far she
becomes reckless. A leader’s best quality might be his confidence, but when
he becomes overconfident he doesn’t listen to others. In this case, Andy was
a very loyal leader. He knew his people well and took care of his leaders
and employees. But here, his loyalty to Mike was jeopardizing the financial
stability of the entire company. His loyalty was out of equilibrium. But
beyond the company’s balance sheet, Andy’s other leaders throughout the
company saw what was happening, and it slowly undermined Andy’s
leadership as their CEO.
Finally, Andy relented, “I know, I know. I should shut it down, cut my
losses. But it’s hard in a situation like this.”
“Of course it is. Being a leader is never easy,” I said. “Imagine the U.S.
Navy Sailors in World War II whose ships had been severely damaged.
With their ship taking on water and in danger of sinking, those sailors
sometimes had to secure the hatch to a flooded compartment when men
who were their friends were still in those compartments, in order to save the
ship. That’s an unbelievably hard decision. But they knew if they did not
make that call, they risked everyone else. They needed discipline to make
the toughest decision in order to save the ship and save all the other men
aboard. There is a lesson in that for your situation here with Mike. You
require discipline to shut this hatch, to shut down the electrical division, in
order to ensure the safety of your company—and all the other employees
here.”
Andy got the message. Two days later, he called me and told me he had
made a decision to cut the company’s losses and commenced the shutdown
of Mike’s division. He knew it was the right move and was now confident
in the decision. To Andy’s surprise, Mike had told him he fully understood
and had expected this would come. It did not impact their friendship. Andy
found another place in the company to incorporate Mike’s substantial
experience and expertise, which allowed him to add value. The cost savings
from the cut allowed them some freedom to invest in other, more-profitable
divisions in the company.
Jocko and “Gunfighter” company commander, from the legendary U.S. Army 1/506th 101st
Airborne, coordinate and deconflict the movement of SEALs, Iraqi soldiers, and U.S. Army troops
during a large clearance operation in enemy territory.
(Photo courtesy of Michael Fumento)
NOTES
Preface
1. Based on our leadership lessons learned from the front echelon on the battlefield, we named our
company Echelon Front, LLC.
2. In accordance with U.S. Department of Defense policy, the term “Soldier” will be capitalized for
“U.S. Soldier” throughout this book, as will “Marine” for “U.S. Marine.”
Introduction
1. High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, or HMMWV, spoken as “Humvee.”
2. RPG-7, Russian designed shoulder-fired rocket, widely distributed and highly popular among
America’s enemies for its deadly effectiveness. Contrary to popular belief, “RPG” does not stand
for “Rocket Propelled Grenade” but is an acronym for the Russian “Ruchnoy Protivotankovy
Granatamyot,” which roughly translates: “handheld antitank grenade launcher.”
3. “Simple, not easy” is a phrase used often by former UFC fighter and World Champion Brazilian
jiu-jitsu black belt Dean Lister, a three-time Submission Grappling World Champion.
Chapter 1: Extreme Ownership
1. “War is the realm of uncertainty,” On War by Carl von Clausewitz (1780–1831), Prussian general
and military theorist. Clausewitz never actually used the term “Fog of War.”
2. PK for Pulemet Kalashnikova, a Russian-designed belt-fed medium machine gun that fires a
deadly 7.62x54R (7.62mm x 54mm rimmed) cartridge, generally in hundred-round (or more) belts.
The PKM/PKS are common variants. The U.S. military in Iraq frequently used the designation
“PKC,” with the Cyrillic spelling for “PKS.”
3. M113 armored personnel carrier, a tank-tracked vehicle first used by U.S. forces in Vietnam,
employed in Iraq for troop transport and casualty evacuation. With a crew of two or three, it can
carry up to ten personnel.
4. killed in action
Chapter 2: No Bad Teams, Only Bad Leaders
1. turn the boat upside down, get everybody into the water, then right the boat and get back in.
2. Ryan was afforded these opportunities at spectacular outdoor adventures through the amazing
work of Camp Patriot (www.camppatriot.org), a nonprofit organization for wounded veterans.
3. About Face: The Odyssey of an American Warrior, by Colonel David Hackworth, U.S. Army
(Retired) and Julie Sherman.
Chapter 3: Believe
1. Meaning soldiers
2. SEAL only
3. direct-action capture/kill raids
Chapter 4: Check the Ego
1. IED, or improvised explosive device, the deadly roadside bombs that accounted for roughly 70–80
percent of U.S. casualties in Iraq in 2006.
2. what the U.S. military called a vehicle-borne improvised explosive device, or VBIED
3. Now called General Purpose Forces.
Chapter 5: Cover and Move
1. M2 Bradley Fighting Vehicles could carry six soldiers each
2. “L-T”: a common nickname in the U.S. Navy SEAL Teams for the junior officer rank of U.S.
Navy Lieutenant.
Chapter 6: Simple
1. casualty evacuation
2. our call SEAL sign at the time in that particular battlespace
3. J51, spoken in the phonetic alphabet as “Juliette Five-One.”
4. two M1A2 Abrams Main Battle Tanks with heavy firepower
5. M113 Armored Personnel Carrier used to evacuate casualties
Chapter 8: Decentralized Command
1. a SEAL term for a serious cheap shot or sucker punch
2. 25mm chain gun with high-explosive rounds
Chapter 9: Plan
1. We later changed the name to Camp Marc Lee in honor of Marc, the first SEAL killed in action in
Iraq.
2. Quote from U.S. Naval Academy Web site, Public Affairs Office, John Paul Jones quotes,
www.usna.edu/PAO/faq-pages/JPJones.php.
Chapter 11: Decisiveness amid Uncertainty
1. Chris Kyle, author of The New York Times bestseller American Sniper, and the inspiration for the
movie American Sniper.
2. Our call sign at the time in that particular battlespace.
AFTERWORD
There is an answer to the age-old question of whether leaders are born or
made. Obviously, some are born with natural leadership qualities, such as
charisma, eloquence, sharp wit, a decisive mind, the willingness to accept
risk when others might falter, or the ability to remain calm in chaotic, highpressure situations. Others may not possess these qualities innately. But
with a willingness to learn, with a humble attitude that seeks valid
constructive criticism in order to improve, with disciplined practice and
training, even those with less natural ability can develop into highly
effective leaders. Others who were blessed with all the natural talent in the
world will fail as leaders if they are not humble enough to own their
mistakes, admit that they don’t have it all figured out, seek guidance, learn,
and continuously grow. With a mind-set of Extreme Ownership, any person
can develop into a highly effective leader. The qualities described
throughout this book can and must be enhanced through training in order to
build better leaders and teams that perform at the highest levels. Training is
a critical aspect that must be utilized to develop the foundations of
leadership and build confidence in leaders’ abilities to communicate and
lead.
Leaders may not always be the ones who generate the specific
strategies, tactics, or directions that lead their teams to success. But leaders
who exhibit Extreme Ownership will empower key leaders within their
teams to figure out a way to win. Some of the boldest, most successful
plans in history have not come from the senior ranks but from frontline
leaders. Senior leaders simply had the courage to accept and run with them.
Extreme Ownership is a mind-set, an attitude. If leaders exhibit Extreme
Ownership and develop a culture of Extreme Ownership within their teams
and organizations, the rest falls into place. Soon, a leader no longer needs to
be involved in the minor details of decisions but can look up and out to
focus on the strategic mission as the team handles the tactical battles. The
goal of all leaders should be to work themselves out of a job. This means
leaders must be heavily engaged in training and mentoring their junior
leaders to prepare them to step up and assume greater responsibilities.
When mentored and coached properly, the junior leader can eventually
replace the senior leader, allowing the senior leader to move on to the next
level of leadership.
Much of what has been covered in this book has been covered in the
past. We do not consider ourselves to be creators of a new paradigm of
leadership principles. Much of what we learned or relearned has existed for
hundreds and in some cases thousands of years. But, although these
principles are often simple to understand in theory, it can be difficult to
apply them in life. Leadership is simple, but not easy.
Likewise, leadership is both art and science. There are no exact answers
or specific formulas to follow in every case. In any situation, there exists a
great deal of gray area, neither black nor white. There may be an infinite
number of options for potential solutions to any one leadership challenge.
Some will be wrong and only lead to further problems, while others will
solve the problem and get the team back on track. Leadership decisions are
inherently challenging and take practice. Not every decision will be a good
one: all leaders make mistakes. No leader, no matter how competent and
experienced, is immune from this. For any leader, handling those mistakes
with humility is the key. Subordinates or direct reports don’t expect their
bosses to be perfect. When the boss makes a mistake but then owns up to
that mistake, it doesn’t decrease respect. Instead, it increases respect for that
leader, proving he or she possesses the humility to admit and own mistakes
and, most important, to learn from them.
No book can tell a leader exactly how to lead in every situation. But this
book provides a sounding board for difficult decisions, a frame of reference
to use for guidance when faced with tough leadership dilemmas. While the
specifics of any particular situation may vary and the characters slightly
differ, the principles remain the same and can be applied, either directly or
indirectly, to overcome any leadership challenge that might arise.
While there is no guarantee of success in leadership, there is one thing
that is certain: leading people is the most challenging and, therefore, the
most gratifying undertaking of all human endeavors. So, with that humbling
reward in the distance, embrace the burden of command and go forward
onto your battlefield, in whatever arena that may be, with the disciplined
resolve to take Extreme Ownership, lead, and win.
INDEX
The index that appeared in the print version of this title does not match the
pages in your e-book. Please use the search function on your e-reading
device to search for terms of interest. For your reference, the terms that
appear in the print index are listed below.
About Face: The Odyssey of an American Warrior (Hackworth)
adaptation
aggression
Ambrose, Stephen
American Sniper (Kyle)
Anbar Awakening
approvals
attacks. See also Prioritize and Execute attack
on Camp Corregidor
on COP Falcon
during return home reflections
attitude
bad leader business
BUD/S and
debrief on
Extreme Ownership in
overview on
responsibility in
tolerance in
bad leader principle
improvement in
junior leaders in
standards in
teamwork in
bad leaders. See also Hell Week
Band of Brothers (Ambrose)
Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL Training (BUD/S). See also Hell Week
Battle of Ramadi. See also specific missions
belief
belief business
blame about
ego related to
Extreme Ownership in
misconceptions in
power and
reasons for
retention in
strategy behind
belief mission
approvals in
camaraderie in
capability in
gear for
mistakes in
OJT for
orders in
quality in
reasons for
success of
training in
trust and
usefulness in
winning in
belief principle
goals in
junior leaders in
leader’s belief in
for mission
bigger picture
blame
about belief business
for fog of war mission
in fog of war principle
blue-on-blue. See friendly fire
bonus structure
Bradley Fighting Vehicles (Bradleys)
breaching
briefs
on discipline equals freedom
for plan business
for plan mission
on plan principle
on Simple mission
BUD/S. See Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL Training
business
combat and
leadership in
camaraderie
Camp Corregidor. See also ego check mission
attack on
discipline at
1/506th at
insurgents killed and
Iraqi soldiers at
positioning in
risks for
for teamwork
Camp Ramadi
capability
casualties
deaths
Charlie Platoon
checklist
clarification
clearance
for COP Falcon
in decisiveness amid uncertainty
CO. See commanding officer
combat
business and
experiences in
fog of war business compared to
Hell Week compared to
command and control
command master chief
Commander’s Intent
commanding officer (CO)
communication
in Cover and Move mission
in fog of war mission
from Simple mission
competition
complexity
confidence
confidentiality
connection
contact
contingencies
control
command and
in Decentralized Command mission
of emotions
COP Falcon. See also Simple mission
attack on
clearance for
defense for
MiTTs from
as presence patrol
route from
cover
Cover and Move business
downtime in
mission for
relationships for
as team
Cover and Move mission
clearance in
communication in
dilemma in
engagement in
patrol in for
patrol out for
positioning in
Cover and Move principle
Cover and Move tactics
credit
criticism
deaths
commemoration of
return home reflections on
debrief
Decentralized Command business
clarification in
junior leaders in
organizational chart of
team sizes in
trust in
Decentralized Command mission
casualties and
clarification in
control in
enemy snipers in
friendly fire and
need for
positioning in
sniper teams in
tensions in
training for
trust for
Decentralized Command principle
command and control in
junior leaders in
senior leaders in
decisions
by junior leaders
decisive engagement
decisiveness amid uncertainty
clearance in
enemy snipers in
Kyle in
misidentification in
PID in
decisiveness business
aggression for
competition in
inaction in
promotions in
terminations in
decisiveness principle
defense
delegation
deployment
details
dilemma
discipline
discipline business
background on
dichotomy in
losses in
loyalty in
discipline equals freedom
background on
brief on
need for
plan for
in practice
standardization in
in Task Unit Bruiser
discipline principle
disrespect
disruptions
downtime
Echelon Front, LLC
ego
ego check business
bigger picture in
blame in
communication in
Extreme Ownership for
stand-off in
ego check mission
attitude in
discipline in
disrespect in
lack of coordination in
respect in
ego check principle
e-mails
emotions
engagement
EOD. See explosive ordnance disposal
Execute
exit
explosive ordnance disposal (EOD)
Extreme Ownership. See also specific topics
in friendly fire
for leadership
failure
fall back
familiarity
field training exercises (FTXs)
fire power
1/506th
fog of war business
bonus structure in
combat compared to
ego in
Extreme Ownership for
goals of
opposition in
SEAL teams compared to
fog of war mission
blame for
communication in
e-mails on
Extreme Ownership in
friendly fire in
Marine Corps ANGLICO in
mistakes in
QRF in
shame from
fog of war principle
friendly fire (fratricide)
Decentralized Command mission and
in Vietnam
frontline leaders
frustration
FTXs. See field training exercises
gear
goals
ground force commander
Hackworth, David
Hell Week
attitude in
combat compared to
IBS for
instructions in
instructors for
losers in
quitting in
underperformers in
winners in
Hell Week leaders
attitude of
goals of
of losers
mistakes of
responsibility of
swap of
hostage rescue. See plan mission
humility
Humvees
IBS. See inflatable boat, small
IEDs. See improvised explosive devices
improvised explosive devices (IEDs)
in Prioritize and Execute attack
incomplete picture principle
inflatable boat, small (IBS)
instructions
instructors
insurgents
insurgents killed
intelligence
intention
Commander’s Intent
Iraqi soldiers
Job, Ryan
death of
Jones, John Paul
junior leaders
decisions by
Junior Officer Training Course
kidnapping
kill house
Kyle, Chris
in decisiveness amid uncertainty
Laws of Combat
leaders. See also bad leaders; frontline leaders; junior leaders; senior leaders
leadership
in Battle of Ramadi
death and
decisions in
Extreme Ownership for
teams of
leading chain of command business
Extreme Ownership in
frustration in
intention in
understanding in
leading down the chain of command
context in
failure in
lessons about
principle of
understanding of
leading up the chain of command
approvals in
CO in
command master chief in
Extreme Ownership for
frustration and
principle of
tact in
Lee, Marc
machine gun and
lessons
Lister, Dean
loopholes
losers
loyalty
luck
M1A2 Abrams Main Battle Tanks
M88 Recovery Vehicle
machine guns
Job and
Lee and
Ma’laab District mission. See also Camp Corregidor; fog of war mission
Marine Corps ANGLICO, U.S.
media
memoirs
mentors
military operations, urban terrain (MOUT)
Military transition teams (MiTTs)
misidentification
mission. See also specific missions
belief principle for
for Cover and Move business
mistakes
in belief mission
in Cover and Move tactics
MiTTs. See military transition teams
Monsoor, Mike
MOUT. See military operations, urban terrain
mujahideen (muj) (“those engaged in jihad”)
on the job training (OJT)
On War (von Clausewitz)
operations order (OPORD)
Commander’s Intent in
creation of
deployment related to
purpose of
orders. See also operations order
ordnance table
organizational chart
ownership. See also Extreme Ownership
patrols
presence
Prioritize and Execute attack on
personal life
physical conditioning
PID. See positively identify
plan
plan business
progress of
standardization for
plan mission. See also operations order
analysis for
brief for
for hostage rescue
humility for
intelligence on
Iraqi soldiers in
kidnapping related to
target secure in
training about
plan principle
checklist on
contingencies in
course of action in
debrief in
delegation in
standardization in
platoon commanders
platoon leader’s order (PLO)
positioning
in Camp Corregidor
in Cover and Move mission
positively identify (PID)
power
presence patrol
principles
Prioritize
Prioritize and Execute
step one in
step two in
step three in
training for
Prioritize and Execute attack
exit from
fire power in
IED in
location in
machine gun in
on patrol
reports in
risks from
Prioritize and Execute business
decisive engagement in
initiatives for
step one for
Prioritize and Execute principle
contingency plan in
steps in
prisoner
procedural lessons
promotions
proof
al Qaeda
Quick Reaction Force (QRF)
quitting
Ramadi, Iraq. See also Battle of Ramadi
Camp Ramadi
life in
Ramadi night mission
breaching charge in
EOD check at
fall back in
firefight in
ground force commander for
insurgents in
Laws of Combat
prisoner in
results of
squirter in
training for
readjustment
Ready First Brigade Combat Team
rehearsals
relationships
rescue. See also plan mission
respect
responsibility
retention
return home
criticism in
deaths and
media in
return home presentation. See also leading down the chain of command
audience for
deployment summary in
realization from
return home reflections
attack during
on deaths
review
risks
route
al-Sadr, Muqtada
safety
SEAL teams
bad leaders of
Extreme Ownership in
fog of war business compared to
gear for
physical conditioning of
training of
Seize, Clear, Hold, and Build strategy
senior leaders
sentries
shame
“Simple, not easy”
Simple business
adaptation in
complexity in
connection in
disruptions in
readjustment in
success in
understanding in
Simple mission
brief on
communication from
contact in
cover for
review for
route as
safety after
support for
Simple principle
simplicity
sledgehammer
snipers. See also Cover and Move mission; decisiveness amid uncertainty; Kyle, Chris
enemy
Soldiers
squirter
standardization
standards
stand-off
Strategic lessons
strategy
success
support
Sustaining Victory
tact
Tactical Operations Center (TOC)
target secure
Task Force Bandit
Task Unit Bruiser
discipline equals freedom in
photos of
Team Bulldog. See also Seize, Clear, Hold, and Build strategy
teams. See also SEAL teams
beliefs of
Cover and Move business as
Cover and Move tactics as
MiTTs
sizes of
sniper
the Teams
teamwork
tensions
terminations
time
TOC. See Tactical Operations Center
tolerance
TRADET (training detachment)
training
close-quarters battle in
for Decentralized Command mission
FTX
Junior Officer Training Course
OJT
about plan mission
for Prioritize and Execute
of SEAL teams
TRADET
trust
in Decentralized Command business
for Decentralized Command mission
underperformers
understanding
urban combat
friendly fire in
vehicle-borne improvised explosive device (VBIED)
vice president
Vietnam
von Clausewitz, Carl
war stories
winning
Winning the War Within
X-Ray Platoon
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
JOCKO WILLINK (right) and LEIF BABIN served as U.S. Navy SEAL
officers in SEAL Task Unit Bruiser through the Battle of Ramadi, some of
the toughest urban combat in the history of the SEAL teams. Their task unit
remains the most highly decorated special operations unit from the war in
Iraq. After returning, Babin and Willink built and led Navy SEAL
leadership training for the next generation of SEALs. Then they took those
lessons learned from the battlefield and launched Echelon Front, a
leadership consulting firm that teaches others to build and lead their own
high-performance winning teams. You can sign up for email updates here.
LEIF BABIN: You can sign up for email updates here.
Thank you for buying this
St. Martin’s Press ebook.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Photograph
Dedication
Map of Ramadi
Preface
Photograph
Introduction
Leadership: The Single Most Important Factor
PART I: WINNING THE WAR WITHIN
Photograph
Chapter 1: Extreme Ownership
Photograph
Chapter 2: No Bad Teams, Only Bad Leaders
Photograph
Chapter 3: Believe
Photograph
Chapter 4: Check the Ego
PART II: LAWS OF COMBAT
Photograph
Chapter 5: Cover and Move
Photograph
Chapter 6: Simple
Photograph
Chapter 7: Prioritize and Execute
Photograph
Chapter 8: Decentralized Command
PART III: SUSTAINING VICTORY
Photograph
Chapter 9: Plan
Photograph
Chapter 10: Leading Up and Down the Chain of Command
Photograph
Chapter 11: Decisiveness amid Uncertainty
Photograph
Chapter 12: Discipline Equals Freedom—The Dichotomy of
Leadership
Photograph
Notes
Afterword
Index
About the Authors
Copyright
Copyright © 2015 by Jocko Willink and Leif Babin. All rights reserved. For
information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
EXTREME OWNERSHIP.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Lisa Marie Pompilio
Cover illustration by Peter Bollinger
Maps by Emily Langmade
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Willink, Jocko.
Extreme ownership: how U.S. Navy SEALs lead and win / by Jocko Willink and Leif Babin. —
First edition.
pg. cm.
ISBN 978-1-250-06705-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-7496-1 (e-book)
1. Iraq War, 2003–2011—Campaigns—Iraq—Anbar (Province).
2. Leadership—United
States. 3. United States. Navy. SEALs. Task Unit Bruiser. 4. United States. Navy. SEALs. Officers
—Biography.
5. Iraq War, 2003–2011—Personal narratives, American.
I. Babin,
Leif. II. Title. III. Title: How U.S. Navy SEALs lead and win.
DS79.764.A63W55 2015
303.3'4—dc23
2015025571
e-ISBN 9781466874961
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact
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First Edition: October 2015